And a Shepherd to Lead Us
by A Very Thirsty Megalomaniac
Summary: With the Earth ravaged by Combine negligence and xenian wildlife, humanity is propelled into the stars through sheer necessity of finding somewhere hospitable to live. Commander Adrian Shepard (descendent of Cpl. Adrian Shephard, whose "H" was a casualty to history) is trying to defend the galaxy both from these "Reapers", as well as safeguard it from any Combine invasion.
1. Blasted Victory

_Author's Note: I'm afraid I have no real idea how to do this. I wanted to do this crossover after feeling a sadness that the excellent X:COM and Mass Effect crossover will not be continuing, and that it has been seven years since Half Life: Episode 2. This is my first publishing on this site. I pray that this is acceptable._

In an absence of substance, a man waited. A young man, in a void without concept of light or dark – heat or cold – time and death. Without anything to measure by, it would be unclear as to the duration of the man's stay, while his origin and purpose remained equally unknown. The only constant was his own presence, and the absence of anything else around him. Outside his void, the unseen stars in untouched existence wheeled about as the time crept by, creating a dizzying display of light. Earth lit up, darkened, and then once again filled with light, this time far more subdued. The people and places the man knew were reduced to ash and memory, and the impact the man had left on the world vanished completely. Until there was only one individual with any interest left in his fate. A fate that had finally been decided.

Without any ceremony or warning, a gravelly voice broke the decade's long silence.

"Adrian Shephard."

There was nothing dramatic about Adrian's awakening. His eyes had already been open, but unseeing. He was standing in place. The only difference was the faint movement as his eyes adjusted and began gently surveying the space in front of him. It was black. He could not move. He could not speak. He could only listen and wait. Two freedoms that seemed meager, but previously the only option had been to wait, so this was in fact a strict upgrade.

"The wheel turns, Mr. Shephard. It has been…too long." A door of light slid open, creating the delayed noise as if it was a train door. Adrian suspected that this was purely for his benefit. The G-Man who walked through did so stiffly, and when he stared into Shepard with his blue eyes and blinked slowly and mechanically, he suspected that too was for his benefit.

Shephard's memories slowly started to crystallize, and he began to recall what had come before. He had no delusions as to his predicament. It never crossed his mind that what had come before was a dream.

"It took…some time to see as to whether your…presence would cause a…commotion, Mr. Shephard." The G-Man was wearing a blue business suit, a red tie. He was not carrying anything, whereas before he had been grasping a suitcase emblazoned with the Black Mesa logo. But now his empty hands were clasped. His voice was raspy, and peppered with unnecessary pauses. Every time he said "Mister", the "s" was elongated for whatever reason. It was as if this man had suffered a severe stroke in the past, though Shephard suspected that was not the case.

"With recent…events, as they are, it seemed prudent to…_adjust_ our opinions on your hhhhhhexistence. A great many parameters have shifted…" The G-Man straightened his tie.

"But we do not need you for your…services. Capable as you are, the time such…prowess would be a-a-a-acceptable is in the ffffar flung future – a time where there would be. Hh. Questions."

He looked Adrian in the eye.

"Questions you would be hard pressed to answer."

He walked up to Adrian.

"So, Mr. Shepard. I have one…simple…request."

Adrian waited. The man leaned to the side, out of his line of vision and whispered into his ear.

"Live your life and…forget about all this."

…

When Adrian Shephard came to, he was buried under about a foot of rocks. His head was ablaze with pain, and when he moved his arms to frantically pull himself out of the rubble, he found his hands were slick with his own blood. He could breathe, he could see daylight creeping in through the cracks between the stones, and he had enough room to move, but he was quite naturally panicked. His muffled yells and desperate flailing as one of his arms broke free of the debris was enough to attract nearby attention. The influx of sunlight as Shepard was pulled free blinded him, and his already pounding headache intensified to a degree that Shepard could do nothing but shut his eyes, clench his jaws, and wait it out.

This effort proved ultimately unsuccessful as five seconds after being pulled free, Shepard vomited over the poor medic who had pulled him free and then passed out, falling through her arms and cracking his head as it collided with the rubbish strewn ground.

…

"Any idea who he is?"

"Does it really matter? He's completely human. CPs get augmented at least once when they join – he's one hundred percent flesh and blood. Just another refugee. Here – help me hold this shirt steady. I need to cut around the wound. Good God…"

Shephard had come to in a medical tent. In his short time with the HECU, he had never had the honor of formally being wounded in action and getting patched up. He could only open one eye – the other had been bandaged over – and all he could see was the faded olive cloth of the hospital tent's ceiling. Calling out, he could only produce a pathetic gurgling noise, indicative of little else other than protest at the presumable severity of his wounds. A fuzzy face appeared over his vision and he felt some pressure on his arm. His thoughts afterword were fuzzy and incomplete, and quickly drifted away as a gentle droning filled his ears.

…

"So this is victory then." After five hours of frantically attempting to reestablish contact with White Forest following the massive shockwave, Barney Calhoun finally stood face to face with Dr. Kleiner on the commandeered Combine terminal. "I'm standing next to a medical tent, doc. In a field of buildings that fell over after that blast. I can hear gunshots a few streets down – zombies moving in. It's welcome actually, they can help hold off the antlions off in –" Calhoun took a few steps back, feigning contemplation as he brought his hand to his chin. He dramatically pointed to his left. "-that direction. First we just have to lure them over the hopper mines the Combine so thoughtfully left behind."

Kleiner frowned.

"It's not ideal, certainly, and a great deal of rebuilding will have to take place, but Barney – this is what we were fighting for. The Combine are gone. Gone!"

"They ain't gone, doc. They've just got no shot at reinforcements. I'm standing in City 14 – it's mostly liberated but – it looks like we had to destroy this city to save it. The citadel in the center looks fine though. But, uh, it's shut down– antlions everywhere – but hey, we _won_, right?"

"If this is your reaction, Barney, I shudder to think what you would have said had Gordon not succeeded in the Arctic."

"At what cost? To what kind of future? I heard that broadcast you made in City 17, doc. A lot, actually. But I'm looking around and not seeing that many scientists. Not many engineers. Looks like the Combine took most of them. The older guys, most of them did shit like sell insurance. The younger guys don't _know_ what freedom looks like. They know how to shoot guns well enough I guess. Should be a great skill to have when the food runs out."

"You sound worse than Magnusson. We've survived these last twenty years, Calhoun, and we survived Black Mesa-''

"Which was our fault to begin with."

"_We survived_. Now we begin the arduous process of rebuilding. While we do not have many of the comforts and conveniences of before, we must not forget that we now have access to the kinds of technology that will not only enable our meantime survival and subsistence…" Kleiner raised his arm up high, as if posing for another Science magazine back in his Black Mesa days, "But our transcendence to the stars!"

"Uh-huh. What have we got? We need that stuff pronto to clear out the remaining striders and find some dinner for the couple odd thousand citizens we got all over the city."

"Look to the citadels. No doubt there will be some distaste as we crawl over the wreckage and excess of our fallen Combine overseers, but we must consider it due payment for the mistreatment that both we and the planet we inhabit suffered. It was at best, woefully negligent, and at worst, terrifyingly malevolent. In addition," Kleiner's eyes glinted and he began to smile, "Look to our Vortigaunt allies. If you will excuse me, we're trying to get a team over to where the blast originated – from the Borealis, of course. There's an MIT graduate we need to recover…as well as his girlfriend."

"Yeah, great. Send 'em over when you get there. I owe one of them a beer. Sure there's also a few buttons we can't have pushed without an MIT graduate as well. See ya when I see ya…"

The screen flashed off. Barney sighed and turned. Behind him, naturally, was the Vortigaunt he liked to call "Igor" who had yet to learn that standing directly behind someone could be somewhat jarring if they weren't expecting it. To Barney's credit, his heart only pounded a little at the mild shock. This was around the eighth time, after all.

"The Commander Calhoun requires assistance. We are here to help…The Combine pestilence, has receded. Now we must purge their corruption off the face of this miserable rock, and secure our future, side by side." Igor brought his two main hands together and bowed his head, his eyes shut. "We will honor the sacrifices made in the price of our exodus from Combine hands…and forge our way into the light. We will wield the Vortessence in your name. Our bodies are at your disposal."

Barney nodded, smiled, and patted Igor on his shoulder.

"Feel like cooking some headcrabs? Or should we get started on that antlion nest?"

Igor blinked.

"If the Calhoun will prepare the delicacy, we will gladly neutralize the nest, and procure safety for this region."

This elicited a chuckle from Barney.

"Division of labor. Alright. Let's get cracking."

…

"You're in City 14, Adrian. The ruins, at least."

"Where is this?" Shephard was having an engaging conversation with a blood spattered nurse who had worryingly low standards of hygiene. Shephard was willing to forgive him if he found out he was in some sort of third world country, or perhaps New Jersey. Unfortunately, the question seemed to just confuse the young man.

"It's…it's just City 14, okay? There was an old fire station here. It's gone now – all fallen over and rubble. Some kind of big shockwave…but we won, alright? How does your head feel?"

"It doesn't. You're given me a lot of medication. Where did you find me?"

"I uh, didn't find you, that was one of our teams. They're still digging through the rubble, finding…uh, mostly bodies. You got lucky. Which city are you from?"

"Well I was from San Diego originally – in the U.S.?"

"Oh. That's…well, that must have been a while ago. How old are you?"

"Twenty-two. You?"

"I…not much older than that. I think. Where in the U.S. was San Diego?"

"…California? You know, uh, Hollywood, Ahnuld, earthquakes, forest fires, gold rush…west coast? Los Angeles? Yeah? What country is this?"

The medic looked perplexed.

"Hang on a sec…" The medic stood up and walked out of sight. Shephard did not have the energy to turn get up and crane his head. He settled for waiting. When the medic returned, he was followed by a _monstrosity_ that froze Shephard's blood.

What followed was recorded to the best of the barely literate medic's ability in his journal.

"_The pashent (A. Shepard, 22) began vigrusly protesting at the presence of vortigone (name not noun) and yelling at me to shot it. I told him to caum down or he wuld be sedated. He began yelling over and over qwote I do not want to be sedated kill that (redacted for langwage) thing befor it eats us unqwote. After being bitten three times in attempting to adminester medication, I was forced to use harsh langwage and threats to get him to shut up. I also told him that he was agitatoring the other pashentes. I promissed to no harm and he was quite as medication was adminestered."*_

*(_Journal of Kyle Johnson, later archived in museum to represent the damage Combine did to what was later referred to as "The Portal Generation," of which Kyle was a member. He was fortunate enough to be capable of writing, as he was not in the majority of the people in his generation at this time._)

The Vortigaunt put his hand over Shephard's slack face with a globe of Vortessence being gently passed over Shephard's features.

"Hmmm. There is something…" The Vortigaunt murmured as he continued to scan Shephard. "There are traces of something between the barriers…but it is faint." The Vortigaunt stopped and turned to Johnson. "You say the Shepard remembers nothing of before the explosion?"

"He uh, said he was from San Diego. That's portal storm country now. He doesn't look that old…"

The Vortigaunt turned and faced Shephard. Johnson, who until recently had not associated with Vortigaunts and still more than a little uneasy around them, was unsure what to make of this. He was just fervently hoping that the rumors of Vortigaunts eating the corpses of the dead were grossly exaggerated.

"We do not believe the Shepard to be of any threat. Arm him with knowledge and purpose, and perhaps his use will become clear to us. His face…" The Vortigaunt turned to Johnson. "We recognize his face. All will become clear, in time. He was lost, and now he is returned."

"Why, is this guy important or something?"

"Not yet. But he will be."

"Well, I've never even heard of any "Shepard." At any rate, he should be recovered in about a week. It's mostly his right arm which was mangled – not too bad, not like Mr. Where's My Spleen over there – and if he's healthy enough, we could really use an extra gun. Calhoun says we gotta make this city habitable and start rebuilding."

"The Shepard will guide us."

…

_City 14 was one of the first cities to at least partially recover from the Combine Occupation, due in no small part to the presence of two Resistance commanders who were confirmed to have survived the Black Mesa Incident. With Commander Barney Calhoun at the head, several experienced teams of Lambda Resistance fighters gradually retook sections of the city from straggling Combine forces, using a combination of hit-and-run tactics from the rooftops with RPGs, as well as eventually simply swarming over strongpoints as the Combine defenders suffered losses due to the continual attrition of antlion and headcrab attacks. The citadel was eventually secured, but laying siege to the Combine forces still within was not yet an option due to the severe xenian infestation of the city._

_The antlion's nest was swiftly dismantled by a combined Vortigaunt and Resistance team striking hard into the nest. One of the volunteers was a recently habilitated man that a medic onsite recorded as one "Adrian Shepard", who was recommended by the Vortigaunts. Shepard displayed extreme prowess in the handling of firearms, use of squad tactics, and CQC, attracting the attention of Calhoun. With the nest's destruction, Shepard was given command of his own squad, admitting that he had prior military experience before the invasion. He was unable to adequately explain his own youth or what had happened in the last twenty years (with his amnesia apparently extending to three days before the Black Mesa Incident) and when his case was brought before Kleiner, he suspected that it was some sort of mix of "partial amnesia and a sluggish temporal anomaly." The Vortigaunts remained mostly silent but confirmed their suspicion that Shepard was present at Black Mesa. Shepard remained non-plussed and expressed the desire to shoot additional aliens._

_As the headcrab infestation worsened, Shepard's wish was granted. Extermination squads were sent into the city, with Shepard at the head of his own small unit. What followed was a series of deeply unpleasant encounters that lead to the deaths of around half of the extermination squads, but also contained most of the headcrabs within the city, leaving a percentage for human and Vortigaunt consumption. Commander Calhoun nominated Shepard as his second in command for military matters, and together they worked together in the overthrow of the Combine from within the City 14 citadel. Shepard and Calhoun's strategy, eventually given the official designation of "_The Wolfpack Gambit"_ enabled partial control to be established over the unpowered citadel, and would be used as a basis for other, more successful strategies in the years to come. It was quickly realized, however, that even with the city under almost complete control of the Resistance forces, that habitation along the lines of pre-occupation cities was impossible. Following the instructions of Dr. Isaac Kleiner, Dr. Arne Magnusson, and some Vortigaunt advisors, Citadel 14 was partially reactivated to power sections of the city, and Calhoun was instructed to prepare colonist teams for life in a hostile xenian environment - they were to be moved to the countryside to see what agricultural developments were possible. Shepard was given military command of the city and told to defend it from outside threats. _

Early draft excerpt from: Aftermath: Life After Occupation in City 14, by Kyle Johnson

Scrawled underneath: _Make sure to include footnote about how I got that guy's fucking name spelt wrong. And I still need to find decent editor for my goddamn journal._

_Author's Note: If I have made any formatting mistakes or otherwise offended the techno-gods of this realm, gentle correction would be appreciated. Obviously this first section takes place shortly thereafter whatever nonsense occurs in Episode 3, and we will have to wait to get to Mass Effect, which will be the bulk of the story. I hope this was a palatable experience..._


	2. Of Violence, Aliens, and Violent Aliens

"I suppose this is the time for glorious speeches, isn't it?" Captain Hannah Shepard frowned at the camera the small correspondence crew was waving at her. She was standing at the helm of the SSV Odessa, currently in orbit over the recently besieged colony of Shanxi. Through the screens she could see fires on the planet's surface along with the debris of several recently broken up ships. Most of them weren't Alliance. "I'm not sure this is really the time or place."

"Captain Shepard, this _is_ First Contact – we're the first team to get coverage. We're not looking for speeches, just a basic run down of what's going on and something, uh, rousing." The news team leader was a young man from the Alliance News Network, Charles Finnegan. To his credit he had thus far been only a minor nuisance on an otherwise impeccable ship, and he had not yet tested Hannah's patience to any worthwhile degree. She would give him a few minutes – the invading force's orbital capabilities had already been neutralized – and then she would return to something actually important.

"Alright. Well, uh, the Vortigaunts confirmed these aliens are not extra-dimensional. They're likely based from somewhere within this galaxy and they have significant technological assets. Judging from their behavior they appear to be imperialist and highly aggressive. Aside from a few scattered reports of impressive hand to hand capabilities, they do not seem much more capable than an average human. Brief interrogations revealed that, similar to ourselves, these creatures are vortally impaired. We are uncertain to the size of their navy, but as we have already lost several patrols to surprise assaults, we have to assume they have far more resources at their disposal then what we've just gone up against. With the destruction of the ships in orbit, we hoped they would surrender. That does not appear to be the case, though we have taken a few captive. I, uh, don't really know what we are going to do with the prisoners. We fed one of these aliens a 'crab dish and it appeared to go into what we can only guess is anaphylactic shock." Captain Hannah shook her head. "One idiot tried out some of _their_ food supplies and something similar happened. Apparently R&D is taking tissue samples. Hopefully this isn't going to end badly."

"We're not at an advantage?" Finnegan's question came quickly. Hannah knew that the young man was a professional, but at least some of his curiosity was motivated by fear. _Remember Black Mesa_.

"I'm not really at liberty to say. It's no Seven Hour War. But it's ugly down there."

…

_They pulled asteroids down here. _General Williams' words kept echoing through David Anderson's head as he and his squad picked their way through the rubble of what was technically still Shanxi. When the cities gave the aliens more trouble than they were willing to deal with, they had started to pull any asteroids nearby and send them down to the planet surface. General Williams, unwilling to join the ranks of Wallace Breen in the act of surrendering his people to a hostile alien force, had simply bunkered down and done his best to make the aliens pay for every inch they took.

_The casualties were catastrophic._

The rubble was surprisingly slick, and its underside was still steamy with the heat of impact. Pieces of rebar jutted out of the ground like old bone, and every now and again Anderson would see hints of former habitation here – an intact bathtub sitting in the middle of a ruined foundation, stairways that lead to nowhere, the odd streak of crimson blood. Impact zones had scarred the city, and the invaders had not been picky about placement. Aside from inflicting a horrendous death on anyone unable to secure adequate cover, all they had succeeded in accomplishing was stiffening the resolve of the defenders. After twenty-eight hours of improvised orbital bombardment, they had resumed their ground invasion. And then the Second Fleet arrived.

"Hostiles. Four ahead. One injured." Anderson stopped. Corporal Ming was pointing just ahead behind the remains of a doorway he was hidden behind. Burnt into the wall next to him was the smoky outline of someone far too short to be considered a combatant. The other three members of his team had taken cover behind a fallen concrete pillar to his left. Anderson doubled up behind Ming.

"What are they doing?" Anderson kept his voice low.

"Looking for somewhere safe. They're all jumpy – they keep checking around them. Every time I peak they almost see me." Ming sniffed and shifted the pulse rifle in his hands into a more comfortable position. "Permission to engage?"

Anderson paused. They had gotten into two shootouts already. The first resulted in the destruction of the enemy's squad at the cost Mikhail having his leg shredded by enemy fire. The second had resulted in a prolonged firefight which had cost them more than half their ammunition. The sole survivor of the enemy squad surrendered while soaking in a pool of his cobalt blood, and died en-route to an evac site either out of blood loss or spite.

By Williams' account when they met up with him two hours ago the aliens were on their last legs. They had already taken substantial casualties from citizen resistance within the city, and the destruction of their ships in orbit had had some detrimental effect to their morale.

"Take prisoners if you can," Williams had shouted over a nearby CASEVAC taking off, "But if these raptor-looking fuckers give you too much trouble, don't bother, dammit! I dunno what they eat, but it sure as hell ain't 'crab!"

Anderson leaned against the short amount of leftover wall he was hiding against. He looked down and saw the child's silhouette. _Fuck this noise_.

"Engage."

"Yes, sir." Ming sharply brought himself around the doorway and sighted his weapon. The squad followed suit, propping their weapons against their impromptu wall. Anderson wheeled himself around the wall and sighted his target about thirty meters away – tall and wearing blue body armor. They turned and for a half a moment before the carnage began, he made eye contact with the alien he was about to kill. It seemed like an important moment but it was rather eclipsed by the shower of blue blood released by its skull when Anderson's pulse rifle let off a quick burst.

The dusty air filled with the thudding of the Citizen Standard Issue Pulse Rifle as it discharged its deadly contents. The aliens scrambled for cover as the rubble around them was filled with small, smoking craters. They were calling out in their bizarre voices and obviously attempting to regroup. Their wounded man had been hit in the leg and was struggling to move at a decent pace. Ming had other ideas and shot him in the uninjured leg. There was a short blue blur as whatever protections the aliens had on their person put up a decent fight, but the hard hitting pulse rounds ripped through what Anderson thought of as a shield. The alien fell over and called out. He remained still, likely realizing that pulling oneself belly-first through rubble filled with shards of glass and rebar would be an unwise move, especially while under the sights of several very angry armed hostiles.

With the lull in combat, the pulse rifles quietly reloaded themselves. The wounded alien was still calling out to his companions, but they did not move to help him.

"Corporal?" Anderson kept his sights on the blackened remains of what was probably a refrigerator that he had seen one of the aliens duck behind.

"Sir?"

"Kindly motivate these bastards to help their friend."

"Uh, alright. I just hope they don't have their hearts or whatever in their fucking feet." Ming breathed in sharply. "Say goodbye to those toe…claw. Things."

Ming fired once and shot the alien in the sole of his foot, piercing the light body armor and showering the area around the creature with blood.

It let out a piercing shriek and the alien crouched behind the fridge popped up quickly.

On reflection, Anderson would later remember that the alien had dropped his weapon and had his arms raised in what could easily be constituted as a surrender. Unfortunately, it was still a very sudden motion, made by a very threatening creature, in a very tense situation. The force of all five pulse rifles pounding slugs into his skull and torso propelled the alien backward a foot as blood and flesh was forcefully shoved away from his frame to make way for their bullets. He collapsed without a sound. The remaining alien by then had also emerged from his cover but broke into a run when the gunfire started. Ming did not let him get very far.

Anderson hawked and spat as his pulse rifle again refilled itself.

"So much for these raptor guys. I don't think this is going to go on much longer. Secure the prisoner and see if we can't stop the bleeding."

Ming gave a kind of wheezy chuckle. "Yes, sir." Ming motioned PFC Lansing to follow him to the still shrieking alien. He paused and turned to Anderson after taking a deep breath. "Sir?"

"Yes, Corporal?"

"This ain't no Seven Hour War."

"No, Corporal." Anderson jerked his rifle to indicate the wreckage they were standing in. "But we're giving it everything just the same."

…

"They didn't take this planet on my watch." Despite his injuries, General Williams still sat bolt upright in his chair within the conference room on the SSV Lambda. Since being taken off-planet, he had been cleaned up significantly, but nothing would disguise the massive gash along the side of his left temple left by, as he put it somewhat darkly, "A piece of rebar as long as my arm!" lifting the amputated stump of his left arm as he did so. Only Churchill, the Vortigaunt representative saw fit to laugh, which Williams had duly thanked him for.

"They came in like demons, taking our cities block by block. We've all seen what the tapes looked like of the Occupation back when – we weren't taking this. Every citizen, armed. Every unit, mobilized. We booted their scaly asses back to orbit within a day."

"But that wasn't the hard part." President Misha Stukov had his hands steepled and pressed to his temples as he shut his eyes. "It was when they started raining death around you that your resolve was tested."

Williams nodded, gaze averted. He spoke more softly now, with far less bluster.

"I walked through trenches left on the roads that were filled with blood and bones. I saw a mother and her child eviscerated as an asteroid leveled the entire street they were on. I saw…"

"We'll leave that to the historians, and possibly your therapist," Stukov cut in sharply, "I am more interested in how these things fought. What technology they possessed – we are well aware of the measures they were willing to take. What is your threat assessment?"

Williams stiffened, his face expressionless. He nodded. "Severe, but we can take 'em. They'll be back to Shanxi – they don't like backing down. Port another fleet in, and see if we can't find out which sector these bastards are crawling out of. And make sure to autopsy them properly so we know if they have some kind of weakness. Aside from 'crab." Williams smirked. "They can't eat 'crab."

…

The Turian dreadnought, _Resolve_, was abuzz with activity. Aides and technicians darted in and out of the bridge quickly and efficiently as reports trickled in about the Relay 314 business. Most of the reports weren't positive.

"…dropped no less than eighteen asteroids on their major cities, and they refused to surrender."

"One of the captives bit a soldier in the face during a failed escape attempt. Apparently this was one of their _children_."

"These madmen don't even use shields…but whatever weapon they're using makes it irrelevant anyway. Have you seen these reports? It only takes…"

General Aurelius paced the bridge, waiting for the message from the Primarch that would let him send in the Sixth Fleet and send these animals packing. He bristled from the anticipation – the first real conflict the Turian Hierarchy had been in over a thousand years, and _he_ would be the one to spearhead the effort. There would be no holding back – these aliens gave no quarter on the battlefield and would receive none. Their cities would –

"General Aurelius." An aide approached the general at a brisk pace, holding a datapad. He quickly presented it to him. "Urgent communication from the Primarch."

"Thank you, Private." Aurelius scanned the lengthy message, and sighed. "Of course. Damn galactic grapevine." The Salarians had gotten wind of their little "incident" resulting in the Asari also learning about it, leaving the Citadel Council somewhat perturbed that an unknown race had vanquished an entire Turian flotilla. Naturally, the Primarch was put in a delicate, if somewhat simple position. A further act of war would not be supported by the Council.

"_We are to escort an Asari delegation just outside of their colony,_" the datapad read, no small amount of resentment dripping off of it, "_and see if these aliens are willing to negotiate. Further action will likely plunge Citadel Space into a war we have no idea we can afford. Intelligence suggests they are attempting to locate our base of operations. If we do not take action now, they will likely make a push into Hierarchy space by the end of this month. Meet up with the delegation and do what you can to secure their safety. If this ends badly, you have my permission to act as you see fit._

_Spirits watch over us."_

"Admiral?" The captain, Victus. He was standing at attention making every effort to look as least curious as possible. "Is it war?"

Aurelius suppressed a sigh. "No captain. It's politics. Head to these coordinates and let everyone know we are now on a diplomatic mission." Aurelius' eyes narrowed. "We tried Turian diplomacy. Now it's the Asari's turn."

…

"Rolling?" Charles Finnegan squinted in the bright light of the morning sun over Shanxi. He was standing in a recently cleared field of rubble, and the sounds of construction filled the air. It was not yet time to rebuild, but the detritus of the alien attack still needed to be cleared away, if only for the ease of providing aid.

"We're rolling."

"Alright." Finnegan cleared his throat. "We are standing on what was recently a battlefield here in Shanxi – the first skirmish we have ever had with an intra-dimensional alien species. A surprise attack was launched at the colony seventy-six hours ago, resulting in heavy losses on both sides. With their initial landing repulsed by citizens, these aliens pulled asteroids into the planet's surface to break our resolve. We-" There was some activity to the left of the camera. An officer scheduled for interview, Major Harper, had been approached by a soldier and they were having a quiet but frantic conversation.

"One moment." Finnegan waved off the cameraman. "Excuse me?"

"It's probably nothing. Apparently there's some faint activity on our screens in orbit." Harper did his best to use a reassuring tone. It didn't work.

"Isn't President Stukov up there? Are we-" Finnegan's question was cut off by the shriek of an air raid siren. Without a word, the camera crew and soldiers made a sprint for the teleports to bring them back to their ships.

…

They hadn't engaged or attempted to approach Shanxi any closer. In the distance, many hundreds of kilometers away, seventeen ships of an unknown profile and signature hung silently in the vacuum of space, their hulls softly glinting in the reflected light of Shanxi's sun. Hannah Shepard recognized some of the profiles as ships she had been blasting craters into about a day previous, but others were completely unknown.

One that caught her in eye particular appeared to have a massive hole in its center and a considerably greater width than any of the previous alien's ships, and she could not quite make out what armaments, if any, it was supposed to possess. At any rate, they were motionless, though Shepard had no doubt their guns were trained on Alliance ships this very instant. For the moment, she was awaiting instruction. They were not to attack just yet.

The familiar footfalls of a Vortigaunt sounded behind her. Her advisor and Chief Xenian Engineer, "Scot," had reached her side in the CIC.

"The teleports have ceased their chatter," Scot reported, "All personnel have retreated to their posts. We eagerly await another triumph over these feckless aliens and their unimpressive attempts at imperialism and brutality."

"You fear not the interval of darkness?" Shepard asked.

Scot bristled at this. "Never."

Shepard received this with a quiet smile. It was bizarre but rather comforting to see the contempt the Vortigaunts had for the invaders. The exchange also brought no small amount of comfort – it was traditional for humans and Vortigaunts to ask each other this before battle. Shepard suspected its origin lay in the original cleanup efforts when humanity began to take out antlion nests.

"Do we have any word of further movement? These ships are not yet depleted of anger and ammunition." Scot brandished his hand in a sweeping gesture in the direction of the enemy ships. "They are dust before us, bad memories behind us, but always, beneath us. Our alliance is binding. We will not be broken."

"Orders are to stay put. They're not advancing. They just seem to be staring daggers at us." Shepard frowned. "And we don't recognize some of them. Like this one." Shepard tapped the screen projecting the vague readout of the weaponless donut-ship. Scot leaned in and sighed.

"If the alien's cunning extends to building craters into their ship beforehand to evade our righteous fire, then truly they are wily foes, worthy of our respect. Our esteem rises ever so slightly."

Shepard chuckled at this, but was cut off by the crackle of static that emanated from the radio.

"This is Admiral Winston. The aliens are pinging us repeatedly, presumably for some kind of vid-conference. Hold fast and await further orders, we are sorting this out as we speak. Winston out."

Shepard shrugged. "I'm okay with kicking their ass again if it comes to it, but if we can resolve this without Shanxi getting blown to smithereens…"

Scot did his best approximation of a human nod. "That would be not undesirable. We will await your word in the engine core." He padded off, leaving Captain Shepard at the head of the CIC. She turned back to the ships in the silent distance, expressionless, wondering how she was going to explain to her three year old daughter how her week had been.

…

"This is either an elaborate insult, a hilarious language barrier, or an attempt to lead us into an ambush," remarked President Stukov dryly as the communication continued, "I am not entirely certain I wish it to end."

For the past ten minutes, a strange blue lady alien with tentacles for hair had been gesticulating (gently at first, then somewhat violently as her frustration apparently mounted) trying to indicate something. Stukov suspected it was most likely a meeting (a notion everyone viewing agreed with) but was uncertain on the finer points of what the negotiation would look like, such as: "Can we bring guns with us? What ship do you want to meet on? Is this extreme sexual dimorphism, because if it is, your males are really ugly? Or are you a new alien species?"

The gun question was answered when, after Williams brandished his side arm at the screen, an angry looking raptor alien emerged on the screen with a rifle, glared at the delegation, and then dropped the rifle and stamped on it three times before pausing again to glare at the delegation. Williams followed suit, apparently satisfying the raptor, who bowed his head and vanished from the screen.

The ship question was trickier, solved only when Stukov told an aide to get his ship model collection from his cabin. After making whooshing sounds and "flying" the models through the air for a few seconds and then pointing, the blue alien apparently grasped the question and beamed the coordinates of a small, apparently unarmed donut-ship. Despite the protests of Admiral Winston and General Williams, Stukov (after much effort) managed to agree with the alien.

"The first man to set foot on an alien ship, gentlemen," Stukov adamantly stated, "You will have full permission to liquefy their fleet if this is a trap. The lines of succession are already laid out. I am willing to take this risk."

"Without weapons, sir?" Williams sucked in his breath, "Even if they hold to their promise and don't bring their own, those bird-bastards got some nasty claws."

"It goes without saying that we will be bringing Churchill with us." Stukov pointed his thumb to the Vortigaunt representative who had conspicuously remained out of the line of sight of the aliens. "I feel more than confident the combat capabilities of an unarmed Vortigaunt outstrip those of these aliens."

The admiral and the general were forced to agree on that particular point. With the dimorphism question still on their minds, the delegation concluded their business with the aliens.

"We will prepare a shuttle. Churchill and myself will act as ambassadors. I want one squad, unarmed of course, to accompany us. Winston, inform your officers of the recent events. We do not want any mishaps." Stukov stopped to shake the hands of Winston and Williams. "Wish me luck, gentlemen. Let's hope all of that pantomiming was not a complete waste."

…

Docking on the alien ship proved easier than expected – the mechanisms in place were more than compatible with the shuttle's equipment. With a clunk, the shuttle settled in place, and a docking tube silently extended to connect with the ship. Stukov, Churchill, and a small team of rather nervous marines, quickly slipped into Mark IX HEV suits, slipping on helmets just in case.

"The birds can breathe oxygen," Williams had said, "But we know nothing about the blue gals."

Stukov had concurred, also remarking about the risk of some sort of alien infection. So, until they determined what kind of contaminants potentially infested the alien ship, the helmets stayed on.

The airlock doors opened with a slight hiss and Stukov strolled through quickly, followed behind by a nonchalant Churchill (who had deigned only to wear a breathing mask) and the six marines. The second set of doors opened and the group found themselves in some sort of lush terrarium. The plant-life, while certainly not terrestrial, was still pleasantly green and inviting. A small delegation of aliens, both blue and raptorlike, awaited them up a short flight of stairs. They too, were unarmed, which brought a small sigh of relief from one Major Harper behind them.

"We did not expect this business to be conducted in a garden," said Churchill, his voice slightly muffled through the mask, "But it bodes well for a cease to the slaughter. We will nevertheless remain on guard."

Harper signaled his men to fan out on either side of the president and Churchill, following behind closely, their helmet masking their apprehension. Stukov evidently had no such fears as he brought himself face to face with the blue lady heading the delegation. After a slight pause, he removed his helmet and attached it to the back of his suit before facing the lady, frowning.

She smiled (though Stukov noted that could mean any number of things in an alien culture) and pointed to her forehead. Stukov looked back to Churchill, who was already drawing a great deal of attention from the other aliens.

"What does she want?"

"A moment of pause, for our consideration." Churchill removed his mask and made a few guttural, echoing sounds which Stukov recognized to be flux shifting. This seemed to surprise a few of the aliens, but the blue lady merely looked puzzled, frowning. Churchill stopped. "She too, is vortally impaired." He dipped his head momentarily, leaving Stukov to suspect he was somewhat disappointed. Stukov faced the lady again and mimed the action of touching his head. She again smiled and this time motioned from her head to Stukov's. He turned to the motionless marines behind him.

"She appears to want to touch minds with me or some nonsense. If this goes wrong, kill them, run for the shuttle, and then radio the admiral that taking prisoners will no longer be necessary."

"Understood, sir," Harper said, and then continued quickly, "We will also administer medical aid to your person if possible."

Stukov smirked and walked up to the blue alien, head bowed. He felt her cool fingers brushing his temple and then –

President Misha Stukov of the Earth-Xenian Combined Systems Alliance stood in a dark void. Off in the distance he could see a pure white horizon, apparently approaching slowly. Despite the single, distant light source, he could still perfectly see the blue alien just in front of him, her hands on his head, her eyes shut and quietly mouthing words to herself.

"How familiar…" Stukov murmured as the alien's eyes opened and horizon sped up, engulfing them completely.

When Stukov's vision returned, the blue alien – _Asari_ – was kneeling and clutching her head, apparently in no small amount of pain. The rest of the delegates were crowded around her, most likely inquiring about her condition. She waved them off irritably and rose to her feet, still a little unsteady. After a few seconds of mouthing words, the Asari made her first attempt at English.

"He- hello. And…welcome? To our ship. I am Matriarch Lydia of the Asari." She extended her hand, which Stukov shook.

"I am President Misha Stukov of the Earth-Xenian Combined Systems Alliance. I apologize if I have caused you any pain. Behind me is Churchill, Vortigaunt ambassador."

Turning to Churchill, the Asari hesitated, uncertain whether to proffer her hand. Churchill simply bowed his head in greeting. "We are proud to bear witness to this union."

Lydia did not know what to make of that – her head still throbbed from having the entirety of the English language – as well as some Russian and French – shoved into her skull at the speed of thought, and there was something – unsettling – about Stukov's mind that made her want to end the merge all the more quickly.

"Vortigaunt? You…share the same planet?"

"The moons and stars above us are different from those of our ancestral birthright," Churchill replied, head still bowed, "But we stand beside the humans in their homeworld of earth, until all is again rendered ash."

"They are not of earth," said Stukov, noting Lydia's befuddlement, "But rest assured, these Vortigaunts are our friends and allies, and we will stand beside each other in all things."

"I…see." Lydia looked Churchill up and down, disconcerted both by the arm on his chest and the red eyes staring at her. "I suppose we should discuss the recent hostilities."

Stukov folded his arms. "It might be somewhat prudent. As I recall, we were not the ones who shot first."

Lydia spoke to her aide briefly to translate roughly what was going on. She in turn told the others present. The raptors – _Turians_ – present fastened their eyes on Stukov.

"You attempted to activate a dormant mass relay – relay 314 – a criminal violation in Citadel space. The Turian Hierarchy-" Lydia waved her hand in the turian's direction, "Was well within its right to open fire. It was still, perhaps, more than a little extreme. But if you had opened the relay and found a hostile space-faring species on the other side-"

"Then the hostile space-faring species on this side of the relay would get jealous?" Stukov said. One of the marines behind him gave a chortle at this, but quickly recovered.

"Please, forgive us. They had no idea it would escalate this quickly and offer both apologies and reparations." Lydia knew the first part was true, and hoped that the latter one would be. Some of the after images she could glance after the merge-

_The dimensions intersect. A war unending as the gods clash in between the spaces and you cower beneath the indifferent heavens._ What did that mean?

"Your reparations will not bring back those we lost. But thank you. I suppose you will want your prisoners back." Lydia told Aurelius this and was met with a stoic agreement that that would not be terrible. She then asked if they had any human or Vortigaunt prisoners to release. Aurelius met her gaze.

"We had human prisoners…briefly. They were all either rescued from the groundside camps or killed when they destroyed our patrol fleet." Aurelius sounded slightly disgusted. "If you can, you should inquire about their military capabilities. We've never seen weapons like theirs before."

"That sounds like a future discussion." Lydia spoke to the pair again in English. "The Turians graciously accept your offer. They have no prisoners to return to you, however."

"Yes. We made sure of that." Stukov's expression was stony. "We have a sad history of extra-terrestrials taking our people captive. If this was a mistake then I suppose I will have to send some condolences." Lydia noted all of this. "It is not in our nature any longer to delegate or negotiate when it comes to unprovoked attacks on our people, ambassador." Stukov smiled, revealing somewhat crooked, yellow teeth. "Even presidents must fight. And we will sacrifice everything we need to in order to evade extinction."

"You do not…delegate?" Lydia said. While it would explain why the president of their entire government took the risk of meeting her here, but it was still hard to believe.

"Every man and woman, a combatant. Mandatory military service." _Like the Turians?_ "Our officers lead from the front. Our presidents make acquaintances with aliens. Apparently. Some of our finest moments in history have been when our leaders – against all expectations – fought alongside the rank and file. Our greatest soldier was a physicist." Again, a smile, more intimidating than reassuring. Lydia's head continued to pulse with pain. _The skies darken as the cities are silenced._ "I would appreciate it if our…three governments?"

"One unified Citadel council, but yes, there would be three separate governments."

"Three governments then – would…come to an agreement. We would have to be brought up to speed on current events, but I am sure we can all get along peaceably provided the reparations are adequate. Tell me, are these…Turians? Are these Turians reasonable?"

"Supremely. They had a regrettably harsh and perhaps ill-thought out reaction, but I think you will find them similar to yourselves in mindset." Lydia fervently hoped this was true, if these two races did not find some common ground then it was likely that a large portion of the galaxy would catch fire.

"Very well. We will offer them the benefit of the doubt. I assume you have some kind of translators other than…mind sharing?" Stukov's eyes were now fixed on Aurelius, who returned his gaze steadily and with no small amount of ire.

"Yes, yes. Translators will be provided. For the moment we simply wish to have a cease-fire and have those prisoners returned to us. After that…"

"Roses and daisies," finished Stukov. "Do you find this acceptable, Churchill?"

"This war shall be brought to a close," Churchill said, "May it only be remembered as regrettable accident rather than close-minded maliciousness. We look forward to these new partnerships, and hope to bring a new age to this alliance."

After quickly debriefing all present on the situation, Lydia wanted to bring it to a close but was stopped by her aide, Hermia.

"Mistress, I don't suppose it would be wise to also join with the other one?" She pointed at Churchill. "It might provide some added insight on their situation."

"Ah…" Lydia again examined Churchill. "I suppose that would be wise. Churchill?"

"The Asari greets us in the English tongue. We listen."

"To better understand you and your people…to report to the galaxy at large…my aide believes it would be prudent to meld with you." The Asari were not naturally choosy about whom they melded with, but something about Churchill was just _off_. She had never seen or even heard of a morphology like this before, and the glowing red eye encircled by several more slitted red eyes (_was it the same eye?_) was deeply unnerving. But Hermia was correct – it would be a good idea.

Churchill considered Lydia for a few moments. "It is agreed. However, we must warn you, if this is not impossible, you may find it…unusual."

Lydia, who in her maiden years had had a brief fling with a Hanar, found this somewhat hard to believe but nevertheless felt no small amount of trepidation as her fingers touched the top of Churchill's head.  
"Embrace eternity."

It all seemed normal. Churchill stood placidly before her in the empty void she was rather accustomed to, and the light shone off in the distance. There was nothing unusual.

"Eternity…" Churchill gave a rasping chuckle. "Your comprehension of this matter is fleeting. We will reveal to you the Vortessence…" Abruptly, Churchill's skin turned purple. His eyes shone with a deep azure as he chanted, repeating the same strange noises he had made earlier. Lydia found herself frozen as she heard the chant repeated as dozen – hundreds – uncountable thousands of Vortigaunts appeared around her, all chanting. Churchill approached her and caught her as she collapsed.

"Rest easy, progeny of the stars. Remember well this moment as the dimensions…intersect." Churchill gently stroke Lydia's forehead as all went dark.

…

President Misha Stukov leaned back in his chair and sighed. He was safely back inside his cabin aboard the SSV Lambda, the negotiations concluded. While apparently the ambassador Lydia was in no small amount of shock after her incident with Churchill, there was no major harm done and she seemed to be suitably impressed. Stukov absent-mindedly reached for a drawer on his desk, searching for the bottle inside. He was due to meet with more aliens the following week, aboard some sort of space station known as "the Citadel." There the Alliance would be formally inducted into the galaxy's community at large, and he would begin to negotiate for colonization rights. He placed the bottle with an audible thump on the desk before turning on the communicator next to it.

"Admiral, please send up Major Jack Harper when you have a moment. There are a few things we need to discuss. Specifically, something about an alien watchdog policy." With the admiral's prompt agreement, Stukov poured himself a glass, raising it in a silent toast.

_To you, you mad bastard with that briefcase. You made that sound far more painful than it really was. _


	3. Beginnings of a Tinderbox

"So…what do you know of this, Alliance?" The Salarian council member Kazan directed this question to both other council members. The Turian representative, Darius, simply gave a shrug. The Asari representative, Tevos cleared her throat.

"They claim to represent the two sapient species that currently inhabit Earth and various colonized systems. While the humans were the original habitants of Earth, the Vortigaunts are apparently on equal footing. The Vortigaunts claimed to originate from…" Tevos paused, and checked her notes before shaking her head in slight disbelief, "Somewhere unpronounceable. I'm sure we can ask in person, if it is not a practical joke."

"If it is a practical joke, it is in poor taste," said Darius icily, "The casualty reports we received indicate over a thousand losses on both sides. A needless slaughter. I would hope they would know better than to make an attempt at humor."

"Indeed." Kazan offered a half smile, "I am certain their representatives will discover very quickly the pointlessness of trying to make Turian politicians laugh."

Darius resolved to get very drunk later.

"They are due to arrive in a moment. Their head representative elected to meet us personally, along with two designated ambassadors and a small security team." Tevos sighed. "Apparently because of their Vortigaunt ambassador, they had a hold up at one of the security checkpoints."

"These…Vortigaunts," Kazan was hesitant. "What do we know about them exactly? Our intelligence reports say they have three arms, around six eyes, and digitigrade legs. In addition, the results of the Joining with your diplomat were unusual, to say the least."

"One day I'm going to have every inch of our ships scoured for bugs," Tevos grumbled, "Yes, they are unusual. We suspect they have some kind of hive mind. As for how they ended up with the humans, that is beyond my comprehension. I'm sure your intelligence agencies will no doubt uncover the truth in time."

"Quite!" Kazan remarked happily as the other two ambassadors glared at him. It was then that Tevos was paged.

"It looks like they're finally here. Best of behavior you two," Tevos glanced at Darius, but he was already facing toward the steps the Alliance delegation was now ascending. She followed suit and did her best to put on an imperious, yet welcoming expression.

The Alliance delegation consisted of three individuals – the taller human would be Stukov who currently radiated an aura of disdain, the shorter human would be the designated ambassador, Faryn Vance, and the _thing_ would be a Vortigaunt, to whom names apparently mattered very little. The group stopped before the council's platform. Vance murmured something to Stukov, prompting an irritated look and a quick shake of the head. The Vortigaunt remained passive. Stukov strode to the head of his party and greeted the council.

"We know who you all are, no need for introductions. I am President Misha Stukov of the Earth-Xenian Combined Systems Alliance. With me are Ambassador Faryn Vance, who will be remaining on this station for the time being, and a Vortigaunt representative, no epithet yet given."  
"No epithet?" Kazan leaned forward, addressing the bizarre creature who gazed up at him, blinking. "Are you saying that you lack names of your own?"

"As those without vortal inputs of their own would understand, yes. We are a many encompassed here in one individual. We are proud to represent ourselves, and bring understanding to your galaxy as a whole."

"We did not see your kind at Shanxi," Darius cut in, "Your existence is surprising. How did your race end up with the humans?"

Stukov waved off the question, abruptly cutting off the Vortigaunt's response.

"We have other matters to attend to, and he will be remaining with you at the Citadel. Plenty of time to ask your questions. Right now we need to focus on what humanity's future is going to look like in regards to the Council."

"Of course." Tevos did her best to smile down at Stukov, only eliciting an impatient response. "I trust you read the information our diplomatic corps left with you at Shanxi?"

"We did." Faryn Vance spoke up for the first time, looking slightly nervous. "I am particularly intrigued by the Krogan Rebellions, in particular how they concluded. But…first we have more important matters. Such as recognizing the sovereignty of the Alliance."

"We were also lead to the understanding that these "Volus" currently live under a protectorate beneath the hawk-eyed gaze of the Turians," the Vortigaunt said, "We too, would petition for a similar title to be bestowed upon us. For every eight humans there is one Vortigaunt – and we already owe much to the Freeman and his ilk."

Stukov nodded. "Finally, we would do much to exchange knowledge of certain technologies. While we have perfected shielding on our own warships, we have yet to perfect a model to protect our own soldiers. In return, we would exchange some of our own knowledge of dark energy, particularly in relation to pulse weaponry. In addition, we still seek new territories to expand to. Our own homeworld still lies mostly in ruin – our colonist drives end up filling very quickly and we would like to avoid any further…" he glanced up at Darius, eyes narrowed, "…incidents."

"All of this can be done," said Kazan, "Though of course we would like you to take a few censuses of your population and map out your borders for us. We too would like to prevent further…" Kazan turned to Darius, eyes narrowed, "…incidents."

"It is also typical for Council races to give out their military capabilities," Tevos continued, "As there are treaties in place and certain…factors may result in a species being considered for a place on this Council."

"That seems a bit much," said Vance, rubbing her jaw thoughtfully, "And I'm not entirely certain most of our fleet can be easily classified with your terminology."

"Be that as it may," Darius said, "It is policy. Rest assured, the Turian Hierarchy would much prefer if the Alliance," he paused, "And the Salarians if we could stop their intelligence agencies in any meaningful fashion, knew of our numbers. We are not asking you to disarm, or post fleet movements provided they do not cross borders. We do this in anticipation of collaboration between our races."

The two human ambassadors stiffened. Vance spoke up first, her voice measured.

"Don't use that phrase. Ever. Not that word. Just a matter of politeness."

Darius looked confused, wondering if his translator had glitched or (far more likely), if these humans were completely insane. Tevos came to his aid.

"If you could please specify which word?"

"Collaboration. Collaborate. Collaborating." The Vortigaunt spoke up, his head bowed. "In our sad history, this word has acquired negative connotations, much like flies to a bloated corpse. Using this phrase in regards to our relationship has…vexing implications. Unfortunate historical precedent."

"Ah. My apologies." Darius recovered as best as he could, wondering what in the Spirit's name had caused a species-wise stigma over a word that shouldn't really come up that often. "I did not mean to cause offense. At any rate – the fleet's numbers…?" Vance looked to Stukov for confirmation. He nodded.

"Your apology is accepted. As for our numbers," she paused, quickly running the numbers through her head, "Six fleets at present. Two ships in each that would constitute a dreadnought in mass, for twelve total…uh, also have around six hundred cruisers. Eight times as many frigates, so that would be…forty-eight hundred frigates."

"A rather sizeable fleet," Darius said, trying to hide his surprise, "Were you already expecting to be attacked by other spacefaring races even before Shanxi?"

"We built this fleet with two purposes in mind," Stukov responded, "The first was to vacate Earth as quickly as possible. The second was to make sure no one stops us. We have been under the boot-heel of a hostile extra-terrestrial force before, we wanted to make sure next time the war would take more than seven hours." Stukov smiled. "To our credit…it did."

"You have mentioned numerous times of being oppressed by an alien force," Kazan said, "Who were they? Where did they go? Why did they enslave you?"

"The Combine." The Vortigaunt said in a low voice, "The Universal Union."

"We had a…mishap during a routine test at one of our labs many years ago." Stukov's face had become somewhat drawn and he was avoiding eye contact with the councilors. "The result was a Resonance Cascade. A sort of…massive dimensional distortion. We were invaded by two hostile alien forces from a different dimension. It sounds ridiculous…but one of the invaders from the first attack stands before you."

"These stars are unfamiliar to us." The Vortigaunt remarked with trademark stoicism, "We chafed under the yoke of the Nihanilith. Our home, lost. And then freedom, at the hands of the Freeman."

"A scientist named Gordon Freeman repelled the first invasion," Faryn said, "The Vortigaunts were slaves to its leader. But with him dead, the Resonance Cascade worsened, creating massive Portal Storms. Portals opened over all the cities, the first stage of the Combine invasion. We lasted seven hours before we surrendered. The Combine…sterilized us. Then they took everything. Buildings, trees, ocean. The creatures left behind by the Portal Storms destroyed our environment. Became it. Meanwhile, the Combine systematically harvested our population, converting us into soldiers worthy of their army."

"In the year 2009," Stukov said, his voice clear and devoid of emotion, "There were around six billion humans on the planet. Perhaps somewhat more. At the end of the Combine occupation, in 2032, just over 1.1 billion remained. In the following chaotic winters following our victory, those numbers dropped to just under a billion. Of the casualties, we guessed that around half of them had simply been taken off-world by the Combine. They harvested _everything_."

There was silence for a few moments in the Citadel Tower. Kazan cleared his throat. Tevos murmured something indistinct. Darius met Stukov's fervent gaze and came to a realization. _They've been pushed to the brink once…now they're running from it. It's the Hierarchy, back at the end of the Rebellions. What they're doing, what needs to be done…it's just necessity. No apologies, no regrets._ Darius resolved to get drunk only _after_ he included that on his report to the Primarch – it would hopefully provide some helpful insight on the species that had just barely avoided open war with them. _And Spirits forbid it comes to that. They're not likely to surrender again._

"We…" Tevos cleared her throat, "We understand that this was an ordeal. You have our deepest condolences and we will do our utmost to insure the like of this does not happen again."

"Yes. Well. At any rate. That's why our fleet is so large." Stukov ground his teeth. "If you require further information on the Combine, just tell Ambassador Vance. If we are to be a part of this galactic community, it would be our duty to warn people of the atrocities we've experienced. Just be warned that some of the videos we have are somewhat disturbing. So…are we welcome in this Citadel?"

"You are. This council recognizes the sovereignty of the…" Tevos paused, slightly embarrassed.

"Earth-Xenian Combined Systems Alliance," Darius prompted gently.

"...the Earth-Xenian Combined Systems Alliance and its right to possess an embassy on this Citadel. We recognize the Vortigaunts as a protectorate race under the Alliance, and we will provide assistance in determining where you should direct your colonization efforts. In turn, we expect the Alliance to conduct a population census within the next galactic-standard year, as well as a detailed report on their fleet numbers. This meeting of the Council is adjourned."

…

"They seemed friendly enough." Faryn Vance remarked to the other two members of her party as they stood at one of the innumerable Citadel docks, awaiting clearance for the ship that would take Stukov home. "I'm amazed at the amount of common physiology we have with these species. The Asari in particular-"

"Make you wish you had brought chocolate and some flowers, yes, yes, I understand." Stukov snorted. "They're still politicians. Expect them to milk us dry for all the tech we've developed off extra-dimensional technology. Feel free to feed them as much useless shit as you like – that lizard-man, Kazan, seemed very interested in our tech."

"Their vortal-inputs are impaired," the still unnamed Vortigaunt said, "Our alliance is at a distinct edge in regards to fleet movements and supply chains."

"Let's not spread that around." Stukov turned to Faryn. "You are comfortable remaining here?"

"You're leaving me with a Vortigaunt, and one hell of a security team." Vance smiled. "I won't get lonely, and if they resolve to eat me-"

"They will find us unpalatable." The Vortigaunt cut in. "We will cut down many of their score if it comes to it, and our final act will be to notify our fleets. They will pay for such an atrocity sevenfold."

Stukov smiled. "Good." His ship had just docked. He shook hands with his two companions and turned to leave, wondering who he was going to have ghost-write his autobiography, and what the title would be.

…

_You may use any means necessary…_

Major Jack Harper had had to ditch the scalps after peace was declared, but they'd still somehow found out about them. He hadn't been praying for outright war, per se, but he was hoping there would be enough bad blood and a lengthy enough conflict to justify possession of his trophies and show them off to his grandchildren a few years down the line. Witnessing the Asari's bad-touch diplomacy firsthand had rid him of those notions. It would be peace, for now.

_Remember Black Mesa. Remember Shanxi._

A lengthy debate with that journalist, a few Turians deprived of head fringes, surviving Shanxi, and now he was apparently qualified to lead a clandestine military operation. Stukov hadn't even mentioned his service record prior to First Contact.

Harper grimaced as the shuttle bounced slightly in place, sending a shooting pain up his back. It had seemed fine at first, the gash from the shrapnel had healed well enough when medical attention was supplied, and he hadn't required any morphine. Now…

_No Gods…_

Harper shook his head, focusing. He was currently en route to the Citadel of City 23, formerly London. Of the remaining cities left over from the Occupation, it was probably the least habitable due to the measures the Combine took during the Uprising. The Citadel was safe enough, but nothing lived within the blasted streets anymore. Harper was sure Stukov had chosen this location for the inception of his little watchdog policy deliberately – a city that had survived the worst war mankind had to offer, finally brought to its knees by an alien menace.

The shuttle bounced again, leaving Harper gasping in pain, closing his eyes and focusing on the throbbing – it felt like his entire body was built around that scar for a few moments. Harper, eyes still shut, rapped on the shuttle's interior to get the pilot's attention.

"We almost there?"

"Two minutes, sir."

_No Vortigaunts…_

Jack opened his eyes, quickly wiping a small amount of sweat from his forehead. _Just a little longer._ By the few accounts of Freeman that could be proven to be genuine, the man had taken an absurd amount of morphine and remained fully functional, if somewhat quiet. Jack prayed that he could live up to the man's name, both in resisting the cravings that were building within him, as well as resisting alien oppressors.

_No one ever reported Freeman going to the bathroom…_

Harper was beginning to see why.

The shuttle landed and Harper emerged, grimacing, into the subdued interior of the Citadel, lugging an unmarked briefcase. A small escort was waiting for him, to show him his quarters until they could arrange for a quiet corner of the galaxy for him to crawl into and do his best to safeguard humanity.

_Not Earth. Not enough of that left. Only man._

After repeated protests regarding his lack of experience in black ops, the biggest obstacle to found the new branch had come from deciding on an appropriate name. The Combine had never demonstrated much interest in human culture and had a habit of burning libraries. Much culture had been lost, but Greek mythology persevered, which was more than could be said for the Latin language, the west coast of the U.S., and terrestrial sea life. After turning down names such as _Houndeye_, _Gray Mesa_, and _Freemen_, Harper had made a suggestion that seemed almost obvious as he made it.

Stukov's brow had furrowed at the time, but he agreed shortly thereafter.

"I had, after all, wanted a watchdog policy. And we did name the damned relay after a figure in the Greek underworld…very well."

The leader of the escort greeted Harper, shook hands. She glanced at the suitcase.

"I wasn't told anything about you bringing any luggage, sir. I was told everything you need would be down below."

"I think you will find," Jack said, smiling faintly, hands behind his back to hide the faint trembling, "That in working with this organization, there will be a great…many things that you will not be told. In any case, you don't need to worry about this…it's just a few personal effects from Shanxi."

"Very well then." She seemed placated, and did not demand a search. That was good. The briefcase did in fact contain several personal effects, and Jack Harper was not keen on letting just anyone touch them, which required little explanation. There was also a not insubstantial amount of morphine, which required a great deal of explanation.

As Harper and his escort took the descending elevator to where he would be working for God knows how long, Harper sighed.

_Orpheus descending into the underworld…_

The elevator halted at the core of the Citadel. The massive doors had previously been emblazoned with a stylized Combine variation of the biohazard symbol, but now, for the time being, they had a new insignia.

_No Gods. No Vortigaunts. Only man._

_Long live Cerberus._

…

Faryn Vance had been poring over what, to everyone else in the Citadel, must be considered very dull history, but to her provided much needed (and somewhat worrying) context to the galaxy at large. It would take some time for the recently translated Codex to become widespread back in Alliance space, but she had no doubt that in due time, it would worm its way into their schools.

She pursed her lips, scanning and rescanning the entry regarding the end of the Krogan Rebellions, in particular the text under the heading, _Genophage_.

_That's not good at all_.

"Sterilization, Kilgore."

The newly christened Vortigaunt ceased his murmuring and opened his eyes.

"The Faryn Vance would be so kind as to elaborate?"

"The Turians sterilized an entire race. More or less permanently. They're going extinct as we speak."

"Ah. The collapsing horizon that is the extinction event. A fate we so narrowly avoided. How was this accomplished? The Combine utilized the hated Field of Suppression, so easily crippled by the deconstruction of their vaunted towers." Kilgore stared at Faryn, unblinking, his main hands clasped.

"Biological warfare. Salarians made it, Turians deployed it. Massively reduces rates of successful birth. The horrible thing is…" Faryn sighed. "…by all reports they had no other choice. But this just won't go over well with everyone back home. How the hell are we supposed to avoid comparisons to our own historical precedent? And this was the merciful option. The other was…"

"Genocide. Indescribable evil." Kilgore made a sound that suspiciously resembled chuckling, as if at some sort of in-joke. "What price do we place on our own continued existence? There is still hope for these…?"

"Krogan. And their hands aren't clean either – and they apparently have the disposition of particularly irritable bullsquids. Love to fight – and they had already committed genocide at the behest of those snakes up in the tower. Doesn't help that they have…" Faryn quickly found the bookmark she had made in the Codex and went to that page. "Redundant nervous system. Second heart…and a second pair of genitals, when it comes to the males. Not easy to kill. And they breed quickly. It's going to spark debates back home, and I'm not entirely certain we're going to end up publicly agreeing with the Council."

"Not to suddenly curtail your doubts…but is this relevant to your proposal?" Kilgore said. "Last we were told, our expansion efforts lay in the path of the Batarians. Is Krogan space close?"

"No, but-" Faryn tried to think of how to explain what she was trying to do, "I'm just trying to anticipate new issues. Before we get over our shell shock at how nasty first contact was, we're going to be plumbing galactic history for ways to brew up hatred for the Turians. I'm not sure that would be wise. And with reports of these new secessionists…well, I'm trying to make sure they don't end up with bad neighbors. And the Krogan are bad neighbors, even as they approach their extinction event. They've given up all hope. They're up against a wall, and when you corner someone like that…"

"In a choice between fight or die, it is the instinctual response of any living creature to fight. It is the way of things." Kilgore strode up to Faryn and rested a hand on her shoulder. "The Faryn Vance's concern is admirable. But first we must secure the colonization rights."

"Right." Faryn tapped the screen, hunting for the bookmark on the Attican Traverse and the planets therein. _There are quite a few contenders in here. But I have a feeling that the Batarians may not be the most…welcoming of neighbors._ She shrugged. _But I'm sure that no one back home will complain about expansion so long as it is directed away from the Turian Hierarchy_.


	4. The Dangers of Frontiers

"Nineteen years…Nineteen years since the bloody affair that was First Contact, since we have been inducted into galactic society – since we have begun to recognize the threats that lie within our own dimension. We realize now that the stars are no longer any kind of haven, but instead a lawless frontier with a thin veneer of civility to placate the common masses. And there are malcontents among you that wish to lower your guard? The shameless ignorance…the misplaced audacity!" Spit was flying from former Prime Minister Misha Stukov's mouth as he addressed the gathered crowd in the main plaza of Eden Prime. It was the nineteenth anniversary of the unsteady armistice signed between the Alliance and the Hierarchy, and Stukov had finally been coaxed away from his memoirs to address some recent issues. Jack Harper, freed from any designated rank, had been tacitly invited to listen to his old associate rail away at the secessionists, the Batarians, and anyone who disagreed with his views in general. It was a lengthy list, and Harper could count on one hand the number of breaths Stukov had taken in the last thirty minutes.

"This is not the time to lay down our guard! To implicate that we are any less weary, any less angry, any less hungry. In one direction lies a circling ichthyosaur, the Batarian Hegemony, awaiting one moment of weakness. In another lie the pack of jackals called the Citadel Council, hounding us constantly for the leavings of our technology that we shed so much blood to acquire…"

Harper stifled a yawn and put the cigarette back to his lips and felt the warmth fill his body. He had been respectfully asked to refrain from smoking around the rest of the crowd, but he had already planned on separating himself. The press of other people around him made him feel uncomfortable. Stukov's presence likewise made him feel uncomfortable, but whatever his feelings towards the man, Harper owed a great deal to the former Prime Minister. But from the sounds of this speech and his behavior towards the end of his tenure, Harper was more and more beginning to believe that his debts with this man were laid to rest. This drivel was almost intolerable.

"Still we can hear the echoes of a Resonance Cascade!" _Still we can remember the idiocy that lead to your expulsion._ "Still we sift through the ashes of Shanxi and find the bones of children!" _The Turians spent several billion credits in reparations, you old loon. Shanxi is thriving._ "Still we are vigilant! We…" Stukov stopped and frowned suddenly, squinting at the distance. There was a loud crack.

Harper dropped his cigarette and hit the floor quickly, feeling his back twinge slightly even through the weightlessness he was currently experiencing. He could hear a great deal of screaming – not just women, plenty of men too – and he looked up at the podium. Past the prone bodies of those who had opted to lower their profiles instead of running away, Misha Stukov staggered backwards, eyes glassy, chest heaving. His left hand covered his side, which was awash with blood. He was mouthing something to no one in particular. As Harper watched, a second round – _pulse round_ – slammed into Stukov, his chest this time, punching straight through his frame and into the pillar behind him, spraying it with viscera. Stukov collapsed bonelessly.

Harper lifted himself and ran to the stage as quickly as he could, accidentally stepping on a few fingers and at least one lady's face as he ran, muttering apologies as some sort of mantra as he went. He made it to the stage and crouched over Stukov's frame as the blood continued to pool under him.

From the front, Stukov looked alright. The two holes that the sniper had made appeared small and, while they were bleeding profusely, looked easy enough for someone to patch up with the correct equipment. But Harper did not need to see Stukov's back to know what a mess the exit wounds would look like.

Stukov was still breathing, his eyes still open. His eyes locked with Harper's. Blood dribbled from his mouth. Harper took Stukov's unbloodied right hand in his.

"I'm sorry, my old friend." Stukov's eyes widened and then lost their focus. What little power left in his hand went slack and it slipped from Harper's hand. Harper stood, frowning. Security teams had already arrived and begun to cordon off the area. A paramedic sprinted to Stukov's corpse, saw he was beyond hope. After receiving no response from Harper when queried, she assumed he was in shock, and gently escorted him to a sergeant.

"You watched him die?" The sergeant had already dispatched teams to scour the rooftop they had tracked the pulse round from. They had found a weapon but no assassin. "Witnesses report that you said something to him." Harper stared into the distance, frowning. The sergeant could not tell if he was contemplating a response, deliberately ignoring her, or simply in shock. "Hey. Hey! Did you know him?"

Harper took a deep breath. "Yes, I did, once. I met him back at Shanxi. He invited me here personally."

"Do you know who could have done this?"

Harper gave a raspy chuckle. "_Could have,_ as in, capable? Or simply motivated to kill him? Beyond his pet headcrab, I cannot think of anyone that ever expressed much affection for the man."

"Capable then." While the sergeant privately agreed with this man's assessment, she disliked the callousness of his statement. Her eyes locked with his pale blue ones and he gave a slight smile.

"It was a pulse round, wasn't it? I would say secessionists, or a government setup. And I doubt it's the latter." Harper reached into his pocket and produced a card. "See this?"

Disgruntled, the sergeant took the card hesitantly. It had no name on it, but she recognized credentials when she saw them. "I see them." She handed it back.

"I have people I need to report to. Feel free to include what I just told you…but I need to leave. Now. It isn't safe."

"Of course. Do you need an es-"

"None will be necessary. I wish you luck on the investigation. As I am sure you will wish me luck on mine. Farewell." Harper strode off in a hurry, where his shuttle was waiting.

After stepping into the dark interior, he peeked his head into the cockpit.

"Stukov's dead. Head back to base, and keep me posted. I'm awaiting a call from Agent Leng in particular." He returned to the back and sat down, feeling for his lighter, feeling slightly nauseous. The shuttle took off and began its short jaunt to the SSV Paris. The call came two minutes into the flight.

"Leng, report."

"Uproar on Earth, sir. Public outrage – cries of martyrdom – it looks like everyone is suspecting the secessh, with the Batarians being a weak runner up. "Leng's response was breathless, his youth obvious in his excitement.

"Didn't think Stukov had it in himself to be a martyr. Just lay low for now, and keep us posted. We'll be needed before long."

…

"So, Shepard, what's it going to be? You're taking a goddamn long time." Gunnery Chief Massani relaxed back in his chair and grinned, his two cards still lying flat against the table. It was late afternoon on Elysium, with Corporal Adrian Shepard and Massani being the final two players on what Massani called "the biggest goddamn poker tournament our squad has had since that one we had last week." Of the eight people in their little tournament, Massani was the only one who had any real experience with poker. It was rather telling that he was the one who kept setting them up.

Shepard tried to remain stony-faced as she looked at her two cards again. _Jack and an eight_. The five cards on the table gave her a straight – she knew that was good – what she couldn't remember was whether straights beat flushes or not. And she couldn't just _ask_ Massani. All she knew that last week when he gone in "all the goddamn way", he had been holding a three pair. It was…unlikely that that would happen this time, but when three of the revealed cards were in the spades suit and Zaeed Massani had gone all in...

"You must really badly want this pot, Gunnery Chief," Shepard attempted to keep her voice cool and steady, hoping Zaeed wouldn't notice the swift tapping of her foot under the table. "Are you willing to risk all of this over two hundred and forty-one credits?"

"Goddamn right I am." Zaeed smiled, revealing slightly yellowed teeth. "I'm not a man of half measures, Corporal. You should all feel lucky we're not playing strip poker – if I lose, socks come off last."

Those who had already been knocked out laughed at this, and Shepard couldn't help but snort, breaking eye contact for a second. She had to come to a decision at some point. This was the first time she had made it this far in one of Zaeed's tournaments – usually it was Simmons who ended up facing the Gunnery Chief down but he was on leave this week – and to beat the man himself would be something she could write home to dad about.

"I'm waiting, Shepard." Zaeed started to tap his fingers on the table, drumming up a tune that was distinctly lacking in rhythm. It was certainly not helping Shepard's concentration. "This is just chump change. If you're feeling unlucky just-"

"Fuck it. All in." Shepard met Zaeed's gaze and smiled. She thought he caught a brief glimpse of surprise, but it was quickly replaced with smug reassurance.

"Alright, Corporal, let's s-" A piercing shriek filled the air of Benning, giving Shepard a start. Zaeed sprung to his feet. "What in the bloody hell is this? This better not be a goddamn drill." The air raid siren continued to wail as everyone in the rec room scrambled for the armory. Shepard could hear the crackle of a loudspeaker outside but could not make out the words. The siren continued to make its ghastly racket.

Zaeed was the first to grab a radio. "Gunnery Chief Massani, Sigma squad. We're scrambling, goddamn it, what's going on?! Over."

Shepard slipped the PCV over herself and grabbed her pulse rifle from its rack. Even straining her ears, she could not hear the radio's response. She picked up a shotgun from the table and slotted into the holster on her back before reaching for her helmet. Tapping the top of it helmet and hearing a reassuring thud each time, she slipped it over her head, peering through the visor. The radio continued to drone into the Gunnery Chief's ear, and Massani began to clench his jaw.

"We're on it, over." Zaeed attached the radio to his belt and began to put on his armor, quickly. "Alright ladies, we got some signatures in orbit, and they're looking to make a landing. Their friendliness is doubtful. The fleet is currently tied up either suppressing the rioting on Benning and Terra Nova, or just on patrol. Ports are being set up, we'll have reinforcements within the next twenty min-" The ground shook and a distant rumble could be heard. After a few seconds the sound of a deafening explosion ripped through the air, and all the lights in the building flickered off at once.

"Hours?" Private Daniels finished for Zaeed. "Chief, I think they just cut off our power."

"Quiet! Tune into our frequency, dammit, and follow me. We're to engage these bastards and cut them off from the citizens." The eight of them hurried quickly out of the building, dodging out of the way of other squads as they rushed for their own equipment. The air raid siren had ceased its screams when they hit the street, its cacophony replaced by the much more subdued and yet far more vexing sound of distant people in a great deal of terror. All of this was eclipsed by the ships now descending from the clouds, the distant roar of their engines filling their ears. The closest touched down over Grissom Square. Zaeed motioned the squad to follow and they double-timed it to where the ship had touched down.

"This is Sigma, talk to me, Titan," Zaeed growled into the radio, "Who are these guys? How are our automated defenses?"

"Vortigaunts are attempting to restore power to our defense systems as we speak, Sigma." The crisp clear tones of Colonel Newman crackled over their headsets, "Secondary generators are offline. We have confirmed reports of armored individuals engaging our forces and attempting to forcibly capture citizens. Appears to be a slave raid. There are no markings, but we have confirmed sightings of Turians, Asari, Salarians, and Batarians. We-"

A deafening scream was heard overhead as several more ships emerged from the clouds. Shepard's jaw dropped inside of her helmet and her heart began to hammer. As the scream faded she could again hear Newman's voice, now subtly tinged with panic.

"..tiating Prospekt protocol, all citizens to be armed, repeat, arm all citizens. All available squads to intercept and engage these pirates, we have thirty confirmed signatures at this time, Fifth Fleet has been notified, hold the line."

"Chief?" Corporal Sarah Bekowski's voice had a slight tremor in it. "We're going to get through this, right?"

"I am, at the goddamn least!" Massani snarled back at the corporal, "Stick with me and fight like fucking bullsquids, and we'll be fine! Now! Private Keller, we need overwatch on the square, get on the roof of that Headcrab Hut. Daniels, spot for her! Rest of you, with me."

Smoke was rising from behind the Headcrab Hut, and the air was filled with the rattling echoes of pulse rifle fire, juxtaposed with the higher pitched rounds fired from the invader's weapons. They stacked up on the corner of the restaurant, Massani in front.

"We've got a good view, Chief," Daniels' voice came in over the radio clear and calm. "Lotta bogies down there, but it looks like Gamma's occupying their attention for the moment. They're swarming like antlions. I'd say around three dozen, with more on the way. Just say the word and we'll start shooting, over."

"Gotcha. Shepard and Bekowski, get inside the hut and take up position. Plenty of cover in there. See any citizens, tell them to head to the nearest depot. Rest of you, get ready. Hope none of you were planning on living forever. One moment Shepard…" Shepard had been heading to the backdoor of the establishment, unholstering her shotgun in the process. She turned to the Gunnery Chief, heart pounding for what she was about to do.

"What is it, Chief?"

"You at least, better survive. I had a flush, and I can't wait to see your goddamn face. Good luck."

"Yes, Chief." Shepard had been trained to take point in CQC operations, but she could not help but feel a squirming in her belly as Bekowski stacked up on the other side of the door. She vaguely recalled something that her father had once told her. _Adrian, darling, when the moment comes to climb that ladder and run into the flames, scale a trench and leap into machinegun fire…if all you can feel is fear, that's natural. If all you can do is cower and think about how wrong this all is, then you're not cut out for it. I know that firsthand…_Then it had turned into a rant about the government, as usual, but Shepard had heard that all before. Her father had rarely talked about his mandatory stint in the military.

Shepard quickly counted down for Bekowski on her fingers to determine when she was going to open the door. It was mercifully unlocked and they stormed the establishment. Bekowski checked the kitchens, which were clear of any living thing. Shepard rushed the front of the Headcrab Hut and took cover behind one of the larger windows. Flipped over tables and chair covered the establishment, and several holes puckered the walls and picture frames, implying that someone had already made their stand here. The door had been smashed off its hinges. There weren't any bodies, however.

"All clear up here. On me." Shepard peered over the window. The ship was not actually that large, but it was still rather imposing compared to all the much smaller prefab structures. The sounds of gunshots filled the air as another Alliance squad engaged the myriad alien forces.

"Corporal Shepard, are you two in position, over?" Massani's rough voice crackled over her headset. Bekowski crouched next to Shepard, cradling her weapon and murmuring to herself softly.

"We are in position. Go loud, over?" Shepard dropped her shotgun and unholstered the pulse rifle, trying to calm her breathing.

"Go loud."

Bekowski and Shepard popped their heads over the window, readying their pulse rifles over the frame. A crack issued from overhead as Keller took her shot. An alien that Shepard recognized as a Salarian had his head burst in a shower of green gore, coating his nearby companion with it. Pulse rounds began to pound one of the groups of aliens as Massani and his team charged. Their shields absorbed the first few shots before they ducked behind one of the contours of their ships.

Shepard sighted a target and fired a quick burst. His shield held until the third round, which smacked into his shoulder, prompting a yell. A second burst to his chest knocked him off his feet and left him barely moving. She could hear the rest of the squad yelling, but it was just an irritable buzzing. The fear faded away as her weapon's sights became her world.

More aliens were emerging from the craft's loading ramp, and they were dodging and weaving to avoid their fire. Shepard fired in careful bursts and downed a Turian, while Bekowski quickly showered the ramp and knocked over two – one from direct fire, the other from several ricochets.

"We're sighted! Down!" Shepard and Bekowski ducked as the aliens wildly returned fire. Dust rose from the ceiling as several stray rounds peppered it. Colonel Newman had begun talking again, but Shepard could only focus on the enemy fire as well as the roaring in her own ears. A crack issued overhead again and the enemy fire ceased. Shepard resumed firing, dropping several more targets with short bursts, oblivious to all but the sound of her own breathing, and the scuttling of alien targets.

"…pard!" Bekowski shook her shoulder. Shepard ducked below, glaring at Bekowski, knowing she could only see her eyes through the visor.

"What?"

"We've got to move! Gamma's being pushed back and they're about to swarm the building! We-" There was a rushing sound and a streak of blue light. A deafening crash filled the air and the ceiling visibly buckled, stress marks covering it as bits of debris showered the pair of them. Massani's voice came in over the radio, breathless and strained.

"Keller and Daniels are down! They've brought heavy weapons! We need to back up! Shepard, Bekowski, back up! We're – GODDAMNIT!" There was another crash followed by some rumbling. The sky had turned a dull rust colored red as the afternoon had matured, and now copious amounts of smoke was filling the air. More chunks fell out of the ceiling. "They're bombarding us!" Massani continued, "They've set up some artillery on 13th! Gamma is no longer combat effective, we need to shut it down! Head round back, we're going to circle these bastards."

Keeping low, Shepard and Bekowski made it round back and met with the team. Bradley was gone, Shepard vaguely recalled him taking a Sniper round through the visor, and the remaining three were dusty and covered with bloody scratches.

"They've locked down the square, but they've been unable to move." Massani told the squad. "Feel proud. We only lost three guys – they lost around thirty." Shepard thought this a bit callous, and Bekowski took off her helmet to vomit on the pavement having trod on what must have been a part of Daniels. Massani ignored her. "We've got permission to deploy 'hacks." Shepard could picture the Gunnery Chief's smile through his helmet. "Empty all 'hacks. They might even get inside the ship. Let 'em chew on this."

After helping Bekowski recover, the remaining squad members pulled out what appeared to a mess of metal blades and wire meshed together. Shepard clutched hers tightly in her hands, idly wondering at the havoc they were about to wreak. She'd only seen this things at work in simulations and old footage.

"Deploy." Shepard tapped a button on the side of the mess and immediately launched it into the air. The device split into three vaguely spherical objects, which proceeded to sprout several rotating blades. A red light blossomed in the center and a high pitched whine filled the air. A swarm of fifteen manhacks made a beeline for the square as Sigma Squad looked on. Massani quickly brought them back down to earth.

"We need to move it. We're heading through those blocks on the right – they're not going to indiscriminately shell places where people live…I hope."

…

Captain Dahak was not happy. The Hegemony had grossly downplayed the defensive capabilities in the Skyllian Verge. His squad had landed in the center of the city, Grissom Square, and had captured only two dozen humans and a single Vortigaunt before being assailed from two different directions. He counted at least forty of his men dead, leaving only a dozen at best decent fighters remaining. The majority of their landing parties were made up of opportunistic pirates eager to make some credits, supplemented by small teams of Batarian elite units to lead them. The artillery hit the restaurant several more times, causing the roof to cave in. Dahak gave a grim smile, but could not dismiss the reality that it was unlikely to have killed anyone.

At the moment, he was the only actual soldier remaining from his ship, and they had already eaten up the first of their "safe" hours to grab as many slaves as they could before any kind of reprisal could occur.

"Captain!" One of the pirates, a Salarian, was pointing to the horizon. Dahak turned to where he was pointing and saw a curious array of red lights from behind the collapsed building that now held the smoking remains of the sniper team that had killed seven of his people. He could hear a kind of droning coming from them, and they appeared to be closing the distance. Dahak sighted his rifle and looked down the scope.

"Machine…bugs?" Dahak snorted, and then yelled to what was left of his team. "Shoot them if they become a problem! Get behind that building and bring me the heads of those humans!" There were a few grunts of affirmation in response and crewmen trotted over to the smoking remains of the human's building. The machines closed the distance rapidly.

"What the-" A Turian fired his rifle at one of the machines, which barely slowed it down. It was then Dahak noticed the spinning blades.

The first of the infernal contraptions had trouble with the Turian's shield, but continued to push against it, quickly draining its capacity. A shotgun went off, and one of the machines shattered. Then they were among them like hellish insects, their high pitched whining punctuated by the sounds of shields shattering and cries of pain.

Dahak fired at one and missed. A blade-insect collided with a Salarian's neck, spraying a nearby Batarian's visor with green blood and causing him to panic as the Salarian fell over, gurgling. The unlucky Batarian fired his rifle wildly at one of the lights, accidentally spraying another pirate with gunfire in the process. One shot hit his helmet, and the inside of his pierced visor sprayed with blood as he collapsed. The blade-insects continued their assault, their close proximity making it very difficult to fire at them and not hit a friendly.

On the bright side of things, that was becoming less likely by the second. On the less-than-bright side of things, Dahak was now picturing what a team of these things would do inside of a cramped ship populated only by unarmed, easily panicked crewmen and delicate flight equipment. With less than a score of his team remaining, Dahak called a retreat. Only he and a single badly mangled Asari made it out. His last sight of Elysium as the cargo doors of the ship closed was the maddening whine of the blade-insects as they finished off the frantically reloading final Turian and turned their attention back to Dahak's ship.

…

The apartment blocks had been empty of both hostiles and citizens. Shepard's trigger finger had been twitching on her shotgun the whole time, and the relative quiet of the complex after the apocalyptic racket going on in the square was more than a little unnerving. It had been broken up by the unexpected departure of the ship they had been assaulting, but no one felt quite confident enough to celebrate, and they had to power down the manhacks afterward as, even to friendlies, they could present an enormous risk. Particularly to children.

Shepard bit her lip. Her hands were all cut up from – something, she didn't know what, and with the adrenaline rush dying down, she was starting feel the enormous amount of sweat her body had produced in the last hour or so. They were almost to the other side.

Upon reaching the staircase that descended back to street level, Massani removed his helmet and spat. His hair was matted and his eyes were wild.

"You all ready?" There was a murmur of hesitant assent all around. "I'm headed to the roof. I'm going to rain down fire on these bastards and get their attention. Stay in here and ambush the first few sons of bitches that come through, then head outside and surround the mortar as best you can. I don't think we have the explosives to deal with it, but killing its operator will be enough for me. Alright?" Hesitant agreement again. Massani put his helmet back on. "I'll let you all know when I'm on the roof and ready to shoot."

It didn't take long enough for Massani to give the all-clear. The squad stacked up on either side of the staircase. They had lost their only sniper rifle to the rocket that had claimed Keller and Daniels, meaning they had to strain their ears to hear the opening shots over the distant roar of the continued battle all over the city. Massani was kind enough to give verbal confirmation anyway.

"Got the guy manning the artillery! …and another one! They see me, and are sending a team in. Taking some light fire! Goddamn! Come get it you bastards…"

The door at the foot of the staircase burst open. The first Batarian to come through was launched backwards into his compatriots by Shepard's shotgun, bowling two of them over. Their response was disorganized as pulse slugs rained into their shins and torsos, furthering the chaos. Bekowski had the presence of mind to lug a grenade down the steps, which went unnoticed in the crossfire. It detonated, creating an ungodly mess and finally scattering the pirates. Shepard gave Bekowski a pat on the back at her quick thinking, but got only a vague mumble in response. At least, Shepard thought it was a vague mumble. Her ears were still ringing from the blast.

"Secure 13th, they've been shipping people through here and we can't afford to let go of the artillery!" Zaeed's voice was barely audible, and he sounded enraged, but shaken. "They've got children in crates down there! Four hostiles still up, but I've got them locked down!"

That certainly got the squad's blood up. The steps were descended rapidly, and Shepard could not help but gag while treading through the Technicolor mess of gore that was the entrails of several different alien species. There were a few survivors at the bottom, scattered around the entrance in various states of dismemberment. Feeling more than a twinge of guilt, Shepard did her best to ignore them.

Thirteenth Street was a nightmare. A decent sized artillery piece had been set up in the center, almost overshadowing the cages below. Shepard vaguely recalled some athletic event that was scheduled for schools in this district that evening. It would've explained why all the occupants were children. They were mercifully unconscious, for the time being, with what Shepard assumed was some kind of shock collar.

"Fucking animals." The street was also strewn with the bodies of several Alliance soldiers, bloody holes peppering their bodies atop streaks of their own gore. Judging from the state of some of their bodies, an explosion had cut at least some of their bodies in half. Zaeed had reduced the surviving pirates on the street down to just three by the time they arrived, and two were already wounded. They didn't last long, leaving the squad to wonder just what the hell they were going to do with an alien artillery piece and several caged and unconscious children.

"Good job, lads." Massani again. Shephard glanced at her three squad members, two of whom were women. She doubted the Gunnery Chief cared. "I'm contacting Titan now, trying to get an idea of where we're at. Move those cages out of the street, no need to have them out in the open where any of these bastards can easily see and get to them." There was a tense two minutes as Bekowski, Shepard, Leighley, and Vernon moved the cages to somewhat concealed locations. They followed this up by placing themselves at reasonably tactical positions in the street. Shepard sighed as she leaned against the somewhat worse-for-wear alley wall she was hiding behind. Aside from the faint writhing of the two or three pirates who were still unfortunately alive and conscious at the foot of the staircase they had entered the street from, the street was empty. She tried not to stare at the cages.

"Goddamn…bad news, people." Zaeed's voice came in loud and clear, "They need this street under our control, but Fifth Fleet is still twenty minutes out. No nearby squads, apparently only the squad leader of Gamma survived and he's rounding up Citizens four blocks or so over. Our people have sent out scanners to monitor the situation, and we're in the way of a massive slaver party carrying back citizens." Massani paused. "They're almost on us. I'm low on ammo for my rifle, so I'm going to have to come down shortly and mix it up with my sidearm. I'll provide overwatch until then. They're coming in from 15th…" Shepard could see them. A lot of them. Checking her own pulse rifle, she realized she only had about a mag and a half left. She didn't have time to unholster her shotgun again and check it, but she wasn't optimistic about street fighting with it in any case.

"Corporal Shepard," The Gunnery Chief was addressing her over the radio. "You're closest to them. We'll engage on your mark."

"Affirmative. They're in my sights." Shepard could fill tension writhing in her belly like starving leeches. She…couldn't count them all. They had sent an advance team of Batarians and they were moving up the streets alleyway to alleyway, cover to cover. They rather depressingly looked like they knew what they were doing. Their body armor, from what she could see, was jet black, and rather intimidating in appearance.

That didn't deter her from opening fire on one of them. Her own burst missed her target, save from grazing his shield once and startling him. Shouts filled the street as the two forces began to exchange fire. Shepard remembered from training that alien forces used shields and railguns that fired rounds the size of sand grains and didn't need to worry about ammunition. This was somewhat offset that most of their weapons required absurd amounts of maintenance and most overheated after around three seconds of continued fire. Their shields were good for grazes and repelling their own weaponry, but pulse slugs were too large and forceful. This was underscored as one of Leighley's rounds punched an impressive hole through the helmet of one of the Batarians.

The Batarians were still advancing. Shepard was forced to duck back behind her wall as their returned fire became distressingly close. Bekowski, howling some wordless curse, was suddenly struck silent by a lucky round sheering through her helmet, cutting it short. Leighley, who was crouched behind the same bit of wall gave a curse.

"Man down!"

"Just the four of us left! Keep them back!" A shower of slugs directed from the apartment rooftop shredded an unlucky Batarian who had made a mad dash through the center of the street to Shepard's alley. "They can't have the artillery! Goddamn…that's it for the pulse rifle, I'm coming down."

Shepard's heart pounded faster at that. Having their most experienced squad member on the high ground had been one of their only real advantages until this point. Her pulse rifle reloaded itself, and she noticed it felt distressingly light. She didn't fancy being forced to use one of her fallen comrade's guns, but it was starting to look increasingly likely.

Rounding the corner again, she could see the rest of the alien slaver party beginning to creep down the street as the Batarian commandos continued their staggered advance. Their numerical advantage was becoming rather frightening.

A quick squeeze of the trigger knocked another Batarian off his feet, though she had to retreat back behind the wall again afterward. After two more peeks in which she failed to even graze any of the Batarians, she felt her weapon click once after a burst. It didn't click again.

"This is Shepard, I'm empty here!"

"This is Leighley, ammo situation not looking good!"

"Vernon here, I-" A sharp burst of gunfire cut Vernon off. She could hear faint gurgling coming in from her headpiece and assumed the worst, especially when it went silent a few seconds later.

"She gone?" Shepard had dropped her pulse rifle and brought out her shotgun again. It felt reassuringly heavy, but its rate of fire was going to leave a great deal to be desired.

"Yeah, they drilled her in the chest. Swapping to my sidearm – I would grab some ammo off the stiffs, but they've got me pinned down." Leighley had also dropped his rifle and was now cradling something in his hands. "I'm gonna break them up. Frag out!" Leighley gave an impressive hook shot of the grenade, and Shepard watched it arc out of her line of sight. Following an alien yell, she brought her shotgun to bear around the corner.

Two Batarians were scattering, and Shepard's first shell knocked one over. The second was unable to escape the blast and was propelled out of Shepard's vision, leaving part of a leg behind. Massani had arrived and was taking potshots with a sub-machinegun as best as he could while cursing incoherently. Shepard carefully emptied her shotgun once before lobbing a grenade at an adjacent alleyway. The inhabitants scattered, easily cut down by the Gunnery Chief. A roaring was filling her ears again while her bloody fingers slipped over the shells as she slotted them in. Leighley took a hit and fell, groaning. The commandos had been barely repulsed, but the bulk of the slaver party was now upon them, simply opting to charge. Her shells barely managed to dent the wave, and then she was out. She made a quick dash to Leighley's hopefully unconscious form. When she checked him, he was still breathing. She grabbed Bekowski's pulse rifle and returned fire, quickly running dry.

Down to just her pistol, Shepard felt an odd sense of calm as she crouched behind the nearly destroyed roadblock. Massani was lined up behind a pillar to her left at the foot of the apartment stairs. A grenade clattered between the two of them. Their eyes met. The last thing Shepard remembered before the flash of light was Massani hoisting a partially dismembered Asari torso and leaping on to the grenade, pressing the torso atop it.

…

Commander David Anderson heard the explosion. He motioned the twenty odd citizen militiamen behind him to hurry up. When they made it to 13th, it looked like it was over. The street was positively apocalyptic, and nothing was apparently moving on their end. The aliens had rushed down the street and saw them. Neither Anderson nor the militia hesitated to cut them down. He could see survivors backing up in the distance, abandoning their cages. He grunted in satisfaction before booking it down the street. Tucked away behind various pieces of cover were cages, their occupants being captured children. It looked like most of them had survived the exchange of fire between the two forces.

"Check for survivors!" Anderson gave a cursory glance at the artillery in they had set up in the middle of the street, pieces of its operator still decorating it. It appeared mostly intact. Would have been unfortunate if its ammunition had exploded and taken the whole block with it.

The door to one of the apartment complexes was open. The door had been busted open, and then it had appeared that someone had repeatedly decided to detonate explosives there. Soot, dust, and gore of every stripe and color coated nearly every inch of the badly damaged walls and pavement. The survivors had made a stand nearby, behind a roadblock the slavers had set up. A doctor turned combat medic examined the badly burned corpse of a man, sighed, and tried to close his eyes before realizing in horror that his eyelids had been burned off.

As she turned to another body, Anderson noticed one of the bodies had a Gunnery Chief insignia. He turned it over and stared into face of Zaeed Massani. His right leg had been blown off mostly below the knee, but his eyes were open, blinking. Blood was trickling from his ears and mouth and his breathing was irregular, but this was fixable.

"Live one here! The Gunnery Chief is alive! Someone staunch the bleeding on his leg!" Another medic rushed over, clutching a medkit.

"Another live one!" The medic behind Anderson was applying gauze to the side of one of the soldier's face. "Looks like a corporal. Right side of her helmet got all melted into her face, but she'll live."

Anderson nodded. He could hear the distant thunder of the remaining slaver ships beginning to take off. Newman was trying to make himself heard over the radio, but no one needed to figure out what it was as Alliance fighters entered the atmosphere. Their particle cannons tore massive holes in the slaver ships, crippling their flight. Troop transports descended from a blood red sky, flying in precise formation as they made landing at Elysium. With ragged victory at hand, Anderson ignored the cheering of the militia around him, closed his eyes, and tried not to imagine the kind of reprisal the Alliance was going to force him to participate in.


	5. Shadows Fore and Aft

When Captain Dahak staggered out of the sole surviving ship from the Elysium raid, he was surprised by the reception he received. A lone Salarian, toting a shotgun and wearing heavy combat armor was there to meet him. Dahak grunted, somewhat taken aback. The Salarian met his somewhat astonished gaze with his own, unfazed.

"You are the only ship to return from the Elysium raid. Good. You were also one of the seven detailed for special assignment." It wasn't a question, and the Salarian did not wait for a response. "You were supplied with a special containment device for the Vortigaunt…I am here to collect. You _did_ fulfill the mission, correct?"

"I was told the objective was not as high in importance as gathering human slaves," Dahak said, eyes narrowed, "Yes, we grabbed one of the freaks. Their weird electrical ability has one hell of a reaction with our shields. Would have liked a warning about that. I didn't know we had Salarians working for us."

"You don't. Where is the package?" The Salarian's expression did not change, but he was starting to sound impatient. "Do not worry about transport, I've got it handled. Well?"

Dahak sighed. "Cargo hold, big glowing box. This is one of those situations where I don't bring this up to anyone, ever, isn't it?"

The Salarian nodded with a slight smile on his face before muttering something. A team of black clad operatives of various species entered the hangar, making a beeline for the loading ramp. The Salarian chuckled.

"Your government is aware of the transaction, and an official will be here shortly to take care of the other captures. You and your crew will be extensively questioned about the action on Elysium. I suggest you not leave anything out. Good day." The Salarian turned his back on Captain Dahak and walked out of the hangar, waiting at the main door for his compatriots to haul the Vortigaunt container out of Dahak's sight, and hopefully his life. Dahak exhaled in a long, whistling breath, eyeing the door the operatives had vanished out of. Any minute now grim-faced government officials would emerge and, after questioning, declare him an unsung hero, or a cowardly stain that would shortly cease to exist.

…

"…extensive rioting in Terra Nova after the Alliance government issued martial law…" Shepard's vision was filled with fuzzy white, and her ears roared from the blood coursing through her system. Snatches of phrases barely penetrated her muted consciousness, meaning little.

"…on Elysium, resulting in extensive casualties. EIS secessionists have agreed to a cease-fire for…"

She could see her father at the head of her classroom again, gesticulating wildly. One of the girls had later told Adrian that everyone thought he was really weird.

_We have secured humanity's survival! It is now a matter of letting go of the struggle of the past and the day-to-day, and becoming something greater! We no longer need…_

Shepard's eyes cracked open, white light filling her vision, blinding her. Gradually they opened wider, only slightly, adjusting. She couldn't move. A buzzing was filling her ears, and all sounds from outside her own head were muted. She thought she could see Zaeed arrayed on a stretcher across from her, slightly obscured by the dancing, shadowy image of a man, his words unintelligible. Zaeed threw back his head into his pillow and laughed, a raspy cackling that was barely audible. The shadow imprint turned away from Zaeed and faced Shepard. For one moment, her heart gave an awful lurch for reasons she could not describe before sleep took hold again.

…

"This…this is not what I had expected, ambassador."

Turian councilor Sparatus had only been working his new position for three weeks, most of which had been spent poring over the files of all other major political powers he was going to have to put up with. His predecessor, Darius, had much to say on Faryn Vance, but had had few dealings with Donnel Udina. Most of the (admittedly few) comments regarding Vance's replacement had been about being _predictably cutthroat_ and _unfailingly unpleasant_. After receiving Udina's message suggesting that they meet up at a place called _Chora's Den_, he expected it to be one of the few human cuisine establishments the Alliance had managed to squeeze into the Citadel. He had _not_ expected their meeting to take place in an Asari strip club.

"Please, Sparatus, we left our titles at the door," Udina said, smiling, "In here, we're on a first name basis. It's Donnel, if you have forgotten. I thought we should have a sit down." He motioned for Sparatus to join him at the booth. The Turian ambassador continued to stand.

"We have reputations to uphold. Ambassadors cannot be seen-"

Udina smirked. "I have it on good hand that our esteemed colleague, Tevos, used to work at an establishment much like this one when she was younger. Besides, I have found that crowded, dingy, and above all loud places such as these make for much better privacy overall. How many Salarian bugs have you found in your office thus far?"

"Three," Sparatus coughed. "I suspect they made them deliberately obvious so I would think I had got them all."

"You're behind. In my first month I found seven, though I did have a Vortigaunt's assistance. Do you think it likely that they have bugged this particular booth? From the way some of these Asari are dancing within other booths, I think they would have…rubbed themselves the wrong way against them at some point." Udina slapped the table. "Sit down, please."

Sparatus started forward, but hesitated.

"It's unseemly. And I disapprove. I am just making it clear that I disagree with this." Then he sat down opposite Udina who motioned for a waitress, ordering some Batarian Shard Wine. Sparatus, who had heard some infamous tales of drunken activity about the former Turian councilor, declined to drink. Most of the dextro drinks in strip clubs tended to be terrible anyway.

"So. What is this about, Donnel? Our news networks have been extensively covering the conflicts going on in Alliance space, but we've yet to receive any official statements directed at the Council. Are you about to make one?" Sparatus attempted to not let his gaze wander as a stripper wandered by, wearing an outfit that left little to the imagination. He hoped Udina's smirk was not because he noticed the slight quiver of Sparatus' eyes.

"Well, this is somewhat related to that, I must confess. The galaxy at large has not been shaken up by a major conflict since, what? The Krogan Rebellions?" The waitress deposited a glass in front of Udina, who raised it and thanked her, smiling. He took a sip. "Your people ended that conflict decisively, if somewhat controversially. Even now there is a significant element within the Alliance that wishes to end your Genophage, likening it to our old Supression Field back on Earth."

"Yes…" Sparatus did not like where this was going. "It was necessary. And while the Council…thanks the Alliance for its efforts to bring aid to Tuchanka, we cannot allow you to cure the Genophage. Frankly, this idea of using Tuchanka as a means to train your elite soldiers-"

Udina waved him off, startling himself when he almost knocked over his drink. Sparatus coughed again, hiding his sudden smile. Udina continued in an irritated tone.

"That is a long ways off. For now, we have the Killing Grounds back on Earth, an environment just as hostile as anywhere on Tuchanka. What I wanted to discuss is what kind of reaction the galaxy at large would have to a full scale war, one perhaps not on the same scale as your Rebellions, but nevertheless still…devastating." Udina took another careful sip of the Shard Wine. "Much of our literature was either destroyed or simply neglected until it no longer existed back in the days of the Combine. But a phrase leaps to mind now. "The center cannot hold." Your Hierarchy has always impressed me, Sparatus. It is a martial culture done correctly. Your people are orderly, corruption is minimal, and your military is by far the most powerful. I do not think humanity can ever match your mentality. We're trying, however. And it's falling apart."

Sparatus nodded. "Continue."

"The assault on Elysium demands reprisal and has provided, for the time being, a means of channeling secessionist anger at someone other than the Alliance government. Personally, I feel that martial law has overstayed its welcome in our society, and that the threat of extra-dimensional occupation, at the very least, is rather unlikely. Even the attack on Elysium does little to dissuade me. The Alliance declares that such attacks prove beyond a doubt that all citizens should provide mandatory military service to repel invasions…while secessionists point out that casualties were heavy in any case, and the knowledge of our military did nothing to dissuade the invaders. And here I am, trying to explain to the galaxy at large why humanity is frothing at the mouth and viciously attacking itself and anyone who comes near."

"And the Vortigaunts?" Sparatus had only met the Vortigaunt ambassador, Kilgore, only once. He had seemed polite, well spoken, and possessed of a completely incomprehensible mentality. He had been informed that Vortigaunts lived for a long time, and that as long as Kilgore remained physically capable, he would represent the Vortigaunt species. Researching the Vortigaunts further had rather unpleasantly reminded Sparatus of depictions of Rachni. They too, after all, possessed a hive mind.

"The Vortigaunts remain neutral. If attacked they do not hesitate to defend themselves, but otherwise they refuse to do much more than put out the fires left behind by riots. When I talked to Kilgore about it, he said that they saw nothing wrong with people leaving the Alliance and settling the Traverse. He also mentioned that we would be under no obligation to help them if something happened. But…back to war. Back to Elysium, in particular. The Vortigaunts managed to track the only ship that escaped. Torfan. Then, in their words, "The chord was cut." We're invading Torfan. Not immediately, but…soon."

"A pirate stronghold, isn't it?" Sparatus frowned. "Police actions, especially provoked ones such as this, are more than acceptable. The Council will be more than willing to sanction it, should you ask. Frankly, it isn't even really necessary. What's the problem?"

Udina finished his drink and eyed one of the dancers at her pole. After a few moments he sighed and met Sparatus' gaze again, glaring.

"It's not going to stop there. We're going to find evidence of the involvement of the Hegemony. Regardless of its credibility. Understand?"

"I understand." Sparatus was surprised at how frank Udina was being. It was foolish, of course, but refreshing.

"That means war with the Hegemony. No questions. The Vortigaunts have always been a sensitive subject within the Alliance, and they need this war. President Raymond may not be a snake, but he's as firmly Alliance as you can find. If the war does not outright provide him with the means of eliminating the secessionists or undermining their political support, it will at least delay their efforts. The Batarians are slavers. They are fanatics. When the time comes, I do not want the Council to sanction the action."

"You don't?" Sparatus was surprised. "You surprise me again, Donnel. What do you want me to do?"

"If the Alliance is to be taken down, or at least evolve past its current pseudo-fascist state, the secessionists must succeed. I want the Council to demand concessions for the Earth Independent Systems movement when the time comes. We need to move through the shadow of our past, stop raging about the future we lost when the Combine invaded…and start building a new one…" Udina raised his empty glass to Sparatus. "…with you and yours. As the Vortigaunts say, "It has been more than anyone can bear…but we will persevere.""

…

Adrian Shepard woke up in a sweat, her body roasting. As her eyes opened, she swiveled her head to her left, taking in a table with some fresh flowers. To her right was a cold steel wall. In front of her, in a bed opposite hers, was Gunnery Chief Zaeed Massani, whose eyes were glued to the TV screen outside of Shepard's vision that was casting his face in a blue glow. At Shepard's sudden movement, he turned to her.

"Corporal. Glad to see you're awake. How do you feel?" His voice had a softer touch than Shepard was used to. The tone he was using now she had only heard before when he was drunk and recalling his dead wife. For a moment, Shepard considered whether she had died and this was heaven. After watching Zaeed shift and seeing the bandaged stump that was his left leg, she reconsidered.

"Numb." Her words were slightly slurred, and she realized that she could not feel the right side of her face. Bringing her hand up to feel it (trying to ignore the catheter in her arm), her fingers brushed lightly against medical gauze. She put her hand back down. "You…how you?"

"Done with this goddamn Alliance, for starters. Also, I lost a leg. Price you pay when you dive on a grenade." Zaeed spat to his left. "Apparently we got off lightly. You can't feel it most likely, but you cracked a few ribs. The right side of your face got badly burnt and they had to do some surgery to remove it and contain infection. 's why you've been out longer. Blown off legs are a simple affair – humanity has been dealing with them all the goddamn time." Zaeed laughed, clearly higher than a kite.

"We win?" Shepard realized shortly after this question that even back in the battle, she had cared very little about winning. That was still the case now, but she was at the least curious.

"Yeah, we won. Most of the kids we were protecting got out okay, Alliance confiscated the artillery, all slavers dead or captured, goddamn beautiful. We're apparently due for some medals, but I aim not to stick around for them. Just want them to give me a goddamn prosthetic and let me stagger out of here. You had a visitor."

"Oh." Shepard did not know what to think of that. Anyone who would want to visit would be some ways away. Unless…

"We in a ship?"

"Yeah." Massani had disinterestedly turned back to the television. "SSV Rosenburg. Most of the main hospitals were full or had been blasted to hell. It was your dad, by the way. Had an armed escort, for some reason. Didn't ask."

"Not mom?" Shepard paused, thinking. Her dad had been on Terra Nova, and would not willingly set foot on a military ship. And making a trip of several light years just to meet his daughter was a little extreme, even for him. "Why here?"

"Because," a booming voice announced from out of Shepard's vision, "I am a political prisoner!" Rounding the curtain was the pudgy, beaming face of her father, Gerald Shepard, handcuffed to a scowling woman.

"Hey dad," Adrian said weakly, doing her best to smile, "Good to see you. Why…?"

"First Fleet," Gerald said, casting a nasty glance at the woman next to him, "Has thoroughly suppressed Terra Nova. Afterwards, they were notified of the trouble here and were sent to bring aid. I was one of the many that they saw fit to keep an eye on for the time being. They're letting me see you partially out of respect for your mother…" A cameraman appeared behind him, focusing his camera on Adrian's face, "…and partially as a PR stunt. For which I am most appreciative." He turned and gave the camera an exaggerated thumbs up. The woman scowled and jerked the handcuffs, making him face back to Adrian.

"What'd you do this time?" Adrian tried to block the camera's view of the right side of her face, "Mom told me you were keeping out of trouble."

"How could I resist stoking the fires of revolution?" Gerald proclaimed loudly, provoking a chortle from the obscured Zaeed, "We saw an opportunity and took it! The audacity of these fascists to blame us for murdering Stukov…we will not be scapegoated! We-"

"You're ranting again, dad." Shepard grimaced. The right side of her face was starting to burn, progressively getting worse.

Gerald Shepard lowered his uncuffed arm and grinned sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, darling. I didn't mean- how are you feeling? When they told me you were hurt, I thought…well. Seeing you in that bed was heartrending. To hear you talk is…" He quickly wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. "You're alive. That's what matters. The cause is important, as always, but…ideals never quite seem as large and all-encompassing when your baby girl is lying in a hospital bed. I might not have agreed when you decided to stay on with the Alliance but…I'm proud of you honey."

"Thanks." Shepard's breath caught in her throat as she shifted and sent a stab of pain through one of her ribs. "Dad…I'm sorry, but I think the painkillers are-" A nurse had sidled his way through the small crowd of people at her bed, a syringe in her hand. Adrian looked away as the medicine was administered. "I love you…I'll see you all later…" A buzzing started to fill her ears as the roaring darkness overtook her.

…

The Vortigaunt stumbled out of the upright stasis chamber, his eyes quickly adjusting to the gloom of his new setting. His mouth set in a grimace in a mix of terror, defiance, and confusion.

"Silence…" He could feel the Vortessence around him, as always, but the whispering echoes of his brethren were gone. He reached out and could feel only harsh emptiness, a space filled no longer with song. "A void…"

_**Alone.**_

The Vortigaunt stiffened, freezing immediately. It was a voice, it came from a living being, but the means of communication was wrong, all wrong. He shuffled around, turning to face the container before peering around it. Only darkness.

"There is no fear. The worst has already been visited upon us. We are-"

_**All alone.**_

The Vortigaunt began advancing cautiously, his back arched, his arms prepared for combat if necessary. Despite his words, the Vortigaunt was reaching frantically out within the Vortessence, for anything, anyone that would answer.

_**You are all alone.**_

The darkness was deliberate. The walls and floor were steel, and the Vortigaunt thought he could hear or at least feel the vibrations of an engine. They were on some kind of ship, but the where was vexing. And as for the silence-

"If you are wishing to do battle, then dispel this unfathomable darkness! We have bested worse than yourself!"

_**You are deluded.**_

The Vortigaunt froze, his limbs locked in place, completely immobile. The sensation was bizarre, as if someone had wrapped hidden steel ribbons and tightened them around every muscle in his body. The recollection stirred some ancient memory, but cut off as he was, the Vortigaunt could not recall it. He lost his balance slowly, tilting slightly to the left until his entire form was on the floor. Something turned him over, and his main limbs were pinned.

_**You will serve.**_

A massive form was moving slowly in the periphery of the Vortigaunt's leftmost eye. It was causing every primal instinct within the Vortigaunt to cry out in unfamiliar terror.

_**YOU ARE MINE.**_

The form suddenly loomed over the Vortigaunt.

"No…" He was struggling, but there was no escape. He was lifted off his feet and his back turned to the form. Struggling feebly, the Vortigaunt tried to call out a warning, and somehow propel it to his brothers within the Vortessence. "SH-"

There was a spike of pain. Then all was silent.

…

Zaeed had been discharged some time ago. His last words to Shepard as he left on his prosthetic leg (having finally mastered his new balance) had been brusque, but encouraging.

"Long life ahead of you, Corporal. Think long and hard about how goddamn attached you are to your limbs. Don't worry about your face, any man…or woman, I don't care, uh, worth their salt, won't give a damn. I submitted my last report to the Alliance. You were the only other survivor in the squad, and it wasn't a goddamn accident. Anyway. Best of luck." She had beckoned him over and pecked him on the cheek, causing his ears to turn bright red. He had hurried out of the room, muttering, but Shepard thought she heard him laugh once he thought himself far away. That had certainly brightened her day somewhat.

Her father had visited seven times, but had unfortunately worn out the goodwill of the Alliance and had been taken back to Terra Nova. His release had been demanded in any case, as the EIS were starting to suspect he had been assassinated. He had given a tearful goodbye and left her a present, still wrapped. Shepard had rattled it and was somewhat suspicious that it was yet another pre-Occupation history book. It could wait.

"Corporal Shepard." The nurse had walked in, and Shepard could hear footsteps behind her. "You have another visitor."

"Do you have that glass of water?" Shepard called out, somewhat hoarse. The nurse deposited it on the table next to the bed. "Thanks. Who is it?"

"Admiral Steven Hackett," said a coarse voice as a tall, austere figure rounded the curtain with impeccable precision. He nodded at the nurse as she left. "It is a pleasure to meet with you."

Shepard saluted as best as she could with her non-catheter arm while doing her best to sit upright in the bed.

"At ease. It's been about a decade since last I saw you, Shepard. You've grown into a mirror of your mother, twenty years ago. But I am not here for sentimental reasons, as I am sure you might realize."

"Yessir."

"The brass read former Gunnery Chief Massani's report on the action down on Elysium. While I hesitate to use the term "glowing report", especially in regards to such a…caustic individual such as Massani, he did say that for your first actual action, you managed to keep your head together."

"I did my best, sir."

"Did you? You did your duty, certainly. And you fought to your very last to defend Alliance citizens – children no less – from alien slavery. But we would expect no less. Do you feel proud, Corporal?"

"No sir. Not since I looked in a mirror. Not since I realized that I wouldn't be seeing some of my friends ever again. But there's no regret either. Sir." She could not quite meet Hackett's gaze. She was quite certain that there were right answers to these questions, and she was not sure she was giving them. Hackett paused, and then continued.

"Would it surprise you, Shepard, that there are many within this galaxy that suspect the Alliance will go to war with the Hegemony?"

"Not at all, sir."

"What would you say the Alliance is lacking in, at this moment, in terms of resources needed to win such a war?"

Shepard frowned, feeling the muscles on the right side of her face burn slightly in pain as they contorted into unfamiliar shapes.

"I am not qualified to make such a statement, sir." She met his gaze. Hackett nodded.

"We lack experience. We lack knowledge. Most of the veterans of Shanxi were crewmen aboard the ships that engaged the Hierarchy's fleet. The marines that fought groundside are old now, Shepard. We need fighters that have proven they can stand up to the alien forces of this galaxy and win. You are among that lucky number, now. By Massani's report you were even somewhat effective. I am here to make you an offer."

"Sir?"

Hackett cleared his throat. "On Earth, there is an infamous patch of land in Australia known as the Killing Grounds. During the initial Resonance Cascade, a large chunk of Xen was catapulted into that part of the planet. Now the place combines some of the most ferocious wildlife and weather conditions that can be found within Alliance space. It has typically been used in the training of Special Forces. Currently, the mortality rate of the most rigorous regimen that can be offered in that cursed place is 23%. It has been deemed insufficient."

"Uh…" Shepard did not know what to say to this, but Hackett was continuing on regardless, pacing back and forth at the foot of her bed.

"For various reasons, we have been establishing ties with several Krogan clans for the last decade and a half. While they are loath to admit it, their history has some parallels with our own. The fact that we had killed a great many Turians at Shanxi further cemented our relationship. While it would be foolish to call them friends at this stage, we have secured the alliance of at least one major clan, and are currently providing aid to three others. Paradoxically for a dying race, they were far more impressed with the vigor with which we defended our aid routes from invading Krogan rather than the aid itself. Whether the galaxy is willing to admit it or not, the Krogan have produced some of the finest soldiers for hire that can be found anywhere. Part of this is that surviving their upbringing on their home planet, Tuchanka, is an ordeal. Do you see where I am going with this, Corporal?"

"Not really, sir." In truth, Shepard had a vague idea as to where this was going, and she could not help but feel a small blossom of excitement tinged with very real fear.

"The Killing Grounds are brutal, but surviving dangerous weather and Xenian wildlife, while excellent skills to have, are not applicable in the coming conflicts. Tuchanka, on the other hand, is. The wildlife there is as vicious as any, there is a massive amount of radiation, and the natives are as well armed and belligerent as any you could hope to find. We are unofficially relocating our training there. If you accept this invitation, you will be one of the first. Needless to say, it would be an undertaking…but you would be receiving the best training. In time, the best missions. Your thoughts?"

"Sir, that seems a bit much for mowing down a few Batarians. It was the Gunnery Chief who leapt onto the grenade, not me." Shepard bit her lip, somewhat regretting her honesty. But at the same time, the idea of living on the Krogan homeworld was slightly…insane.

"I read the report, Shepard, I am well aware. You are not the only survivor of Elysium that has been approached with this offer. Please, think about it. The nurse was kind enough to inform me that you still had a week or so to recover. When that week is up, or before that if possible, I will expect an answer. Until then…" Hackett touched the tip of his cap and strode out of the room, leaving Shepard with an uneasy sensation in the pit of her stomach.


	6. Miserable Rumblings

"Ever done this before?" The engineer gestured to the pad, the rows of metal strips rescinded to allow entrance. It rather unpleasantly reminded Shepard of the gaping maw of some massive alien beast. She tried not to remember the initial test results of Vancian teleporters, and their effect on the unfortunate test subjects.

"No, sir. Was shipped over with the other grunts on a transport." Shepard had read that the other races were under the impression that everyone in the Alliance zipped around on teleporters all day, and that the fleets could show up anywhere within the galaxy at a moment's notice. It was classified information as to just what kind of energy was necessary to power a portal large enough to move a fleet, but catching a glimpse at the number of Vortigaunts meandering around her ship's engine room on the trip over to Elysium gave her some kind of idea.

The engineer sighed, strapping some eye protection over his head.

"Don't believe the rumors, these things are safe. Especially when it's just the one of you…it's where you're going that should get you worried. Got your things?"

He flicked open a nearby glass panel and put his gloved hand on the switch. Shepard hefted the small duffel bag while striding with what she hoped was cool purpose into the maw of the device. The strips slid back into place, locking her in. Her heart was beating faster, but she kept her breath steady and began to calm down. Preparing to take a risk was always rough, but once the plunge was made…

"Alright. Stand still. This should only take a few moments." The engineer flipped the switch and gave Shepard a thumbs up. She returned it, only to quickly withdraw her hand as the teleporter started to whir into life.

"Alright. Predictable phase arrays. Fifteen seconds…just a heads up, you might feel a bit, uh, nauseous afterwards. Big jumps like this can do that. Five seconds…" The strips of metal whirred about Shepard at a dizzying pace. A pale blue beam of light had shot into the machine overhead, and a low pitched drone filled the room. There was a sudden wrenching sound, and Shepard's vision filled with white. All sensation vanished – she could no longer feel herself holding her duffel bag, and the only sound was of her own breathing. Perhaps she was only managing it, but Shepard had the vague sensation of there being great motion around her, as if she was hurtling along a smooth road in a very fast vehicle, watching the trees blur together while she was sitting in place.

A circle of gray spontaneously blossomed in her vision in front of her before quickly expanding in her sight. The laws of physics gave a squeal of protest as Adrian Shepard was deposited on Tuchanka. For a moment, she faced the officer and engineer who awaited her arrival with grace, but then quickly heaved as her breakfast made its searing way back up her throat.

"S-sorry, I j-" Shepard dry heaved.

"Third one today. Getting sick of cleaning this fucking thing," that was a woman, the engineer. Shepard made a note to apologize once her stomach stopped revolting against such a casual violation of nature's laws. "That damn Krogan doesn't help either. Saw the mess and said it made him hungry. That thing is going to train these people?"

Shepard glanced up in time to see the officer respond, grinning.

"When we ported that one over, all he complained about was the amount of paperwork we forced on him to work for us. I think we can learn a lot from the Krogan. We're still half terrified by our own technology, but he just doesn't give a damn. Besides, would you trust anyone other than a human or a vort to give you a tour of Earth?" He glanced at Shepard, and then offered a hand, pulling her to her feet. "You dropped your bag." Shepard picked up her bag, and before she could step out of the portal, the officer gestured to the vomit. "Careful not to trip. One of your compadres slipped on his mess and had a nasty fall earlier. Welcome to Tuchanka, corporal."

…

"You will be punished," Udina addressed the Batarian ambassador Anto directly from across the chamber, staring him in the face. Udina had been told repeatedly that Batarians considered their second set of eyes to grant them superiority over other species. While they still viewed humans as pathetic, they had come to view Vortigaunts with some degree of awe and suspicion ever since their first meeting – they were the only sapients that could challenge them in the optical department. Udina did not have such an advantage, and merely glared coldly at the lower set of eyes, "Your friends will be punished. Your children will be punished. We will push you to the brink. It brings me no pleasure to bring you this promise – but it needs to be said."

"Your proof is inconclusive!" Anton's voice was surprisingly shrill. Udina had the sneaking and ultimately rather depressing suspicion that Anton had not been notified of his government's involvement in the raid on Elysium. "Yes, it is unfortunate that a Batarian made artillery piece ended up on one of your planets, but you can hardly blame the entire Hegemony for one misguided sale! The Turian Phaeston rifle, for instance, is widespread-"

"You can thank the Volus for that," Sparatus cut in quickly, always ready to make certain that any blemishes on his species were at the very least downplayed. "While the Hierarchy is loath to part with such potent weaponry, the Volus made quite a powerful argument. Though even they were wise enough not to propose selling anything on the scale of an artillery piece."

"Yes," Anton stammered, "Well, a formal apology can be hammered out. There is no need to-"

"Extensive footage was taken," Udina cut him off abruptly, "Of elite Batarians in unmarked black armor assisting the pirates. Most of the military casualties we took were because of the presence of these soldiers. We took the liberty of stripping them of weapons and armor, and found that most, if not all, came from vendors within the Terminus systems. All of them have done extensive business with Batarian State Arms." Udina sat back, staring coolly at the Council. Tevos cleared her throat.

"While that is quite a coincidence, it proves nothing. The Terminus systems are outside the jurisdiction of both the Hegemony and the Council. If anything, it further reinforces that-"

Udina let Tevos drone on like this for some time, aware that while he might get away with cutting off poor Anton (who was now avoiding eye contact), Councilor Tevos was another matter. She was always a stickler for etiquette, at least when it came to being interrupted by someone not on the Council. He took a quick glance at the Salarian councilor, Valern. His posture was relaxed, and when their eyes met, he thought he saw a glimmer of amusement. The droning stopped. Udina's gaze turned back to Tevos, who had again adopted the imperious expression she usually wore while in the Citadel Tower.

"I only bring this up so that its relevance can be discussed at a later date, Councilor Tevos. I would like to thank you all for your time. Anton!" Udina did his best to sneer at the beleaguered diplomat, his heart not really in it. "Your time will come. Slave raids will not be tolerated. I suggest you have your Hegemony make amends, and quickly."

Tevos frowned when she heard that, but Anton had apparently found some amount of nerve and decided to finally make a retort.

"You idiots will bleed yourselves dry carrying on like this." With that, he turned on his heel and left the Tower. Udina rubbed his forehead, beginning to feel the sensations of an unpleasant headache. He had lost a small clump of hair in the shower yesterday morning, and from the way things were going, it would not be the last time.

…

"There's the target." Kilo team waited patiently inside the assault tube as the pilot of the ship carrying them kept them up to date. While there was no chatter going between the six members, they were all in various states of relaxedness. They had every confidence in their abilities, even if all but one of them had ever pulled off what they were about to do outside of a simulation. "Route established. Vector good. Two minutes until deployment."

Kilo-5 rolled her neck as best as she could while still remaining within her harness. Kilo-3 saw this and gave her a thumbs up, which she did not return. More important things at hand.

"Thirty seconds."

"Check weapons." Kilo Prime briefly gave his Tau rifle a once-over, and the rest of the squad followed suit. It was just a matter of procedure. They would not be in the tube if there had been any issues. Not that Kilo-5 had any complaints. Tau rifles were notoriously cranky and had never made it to mass production. Three weeks of training with it had not filled her with confidence regarding its reliability.

"Five seconds. Three…two…one. Clamps disengaging. Brace for impact."

With a shudder, the tube was filled with a sudden sense of weightlessness. It was then propelled forward at a speed that Kilo-5 knew was disproportional to what she could sense from the interior. Knowing that no one could see her through her helmet, Kilo-5's shut her eyes clenched her jaw, readying herself for the impact.

With a deafening crack, the tube broke through the side of the small space station with surprising ease before coming to a fiery halt. The harnesses disengaged and the squad rose as one to their feet.

"Engage all voice modulators. Upon first contact with hostiles, begin COP. Prime to Overlord, open the hatch."

"Acknowledged. Five seconds."

The squad's rifles all faced the hatch in unison. It opened without a sound. Prime and Two double-timed it out of there, and as their feet touched the station's floors they began to report.

"Impact zone clear. They've yet to depressurize." The rest of the squad moved in after that. A quiet buzzing shortly after reached Five's ears, telling her that the hole they had made in the station's shields had fixed itself. An irritating reminder of the overall efficiency of alien technology, but its debatable superiority was irrelevant at this second.

Judging from the contents of the room they had crashed into, this was likely where the station's inhabitants unpacked and otherwise processed cargo. Most of the steel crates in the room were still sealed, though the few that had been unpacked had discharged their contents all over the room while it was depressurized. Five kicked a stray gauntlet over. Five fingers. Probably for Batarians.

"Prime, looks like we've got direct confirmation on their involvement. Check out the goods." Scanning the floor revealed various pieces of rather high end body armor, weaponry, and what looked suspiciously like some kind of trip mines. "It matches armor recovered on Elysium."

"Agreed. Prime to Overlord, we have direct visual confirmation of evidence linking Khato Tirin to the Elysium raid. We are proceeding to sweep and clear, over." Overlord's response was ignored as a door to their right slid open. Six and Three had it covered and immediately opened fire. The discharge of the Tau rifles filled the air with static, echoing strangely in the confined metal interior of the station. Their blasts missed and the armor clad Batarian ducked behind the left rim of the door. After a moment of charging his weapon, Three fired a blast that penetrated the metal rim easily. Five witnessed an outward explosion of gore as the shot sheared through his rib cage. There was a clatter as the Batarian dropped his rifle, followed by a thump as he collapsed in a puddle of his own half melted viscera.

"Antibiotic is neutralized, awaiting new directive," Three reported crisply, impressing Five with his promptness. Prime quickly followed up with orders.

"Form up and reinforce hardpoint. Clamp secondary access and prepare for primary infection." Prime motioned for Five and Two to take the door on their left with him while the remaining team members covered the now opened door. A harsh voice began to blare over the loudspeaker.

"I don't know how your idiot Alliance found me, but I'll be damned if my station is taken by a six man team and a barely armed freighter! This entire station is monitored, I can see your every movement. I would ask you to surrender, but I think we both know that isn't going to happen. I'm going to enjoy watching you all die."

_Obligatory bluster born of Hegemony propaganda propped up by simple ignorance_. Five had to stop herself from chuckling as the loudspeaker went silent. Wouldn't do to give the game away.

"Kilo-3, assume primary oversight over sub-squad and exploit known station biology to pacify and contain communication superstructure."

"Acknowledged. Deploying." Three and his two compatriots vanished out of sight. Tau fire echoed from outside their line of vision as their group promptly engaged an ambush whilst continuing to spew jargon from the Combine Obfuscation Protocol.

"Sector is malignant. Cauterize."

"One down! Prioritizing leftmost antibiotic."

"Energy membrane taking superficial damage. Recuperating."

Prime hit the door control and rushed through quickly, returning fire as the various assembled pirates and mercenaries waiting behind began their assault. The Tau beams began to ricochet, prompting confused and somewhat panicked reactions from some of the opposition. Prime was hit several times, but his shield held as he dived behind a grungy support pillar. Five and Two covered him as they could, the blasts from their weapons punching through cover and shields with ease whilst sitting safely behind their own.

"Continue to pressure, expunge all malignancy," Prime was spouting, leading Five to suspect that he was somewhat enjoying using the jargon, "Treat and amputate."

"Affirmative," Five said, not sharing his enthusiasm, "Recommend inoculation, inquire." _The things we do for humanity…_

"Uh, negative, negative, residents have revoked all citizenship. Sterilize all residents and continue sector sweep prioritizing capture of Khar'shan subprime." Prime emphasized his statement by decapitating a fallen wounded Batarian with a rifle blast. _No prisoners then. Probably cleaner that way._ More pirates were darting into the room to engage them, their calls becoming increasingly panicked. Five's lip curled when she heard one of the Batarians scream that they weren't Alliance. _Sounds like it paid off._

By the time they were done, the inside of the room was coated with scorch marks. Batarians twitched while still slumped over cover or were lying on the floor in various states of severe injury. Many did not move at all. Prime slid out from behind the pillar he had hidden behind, wasting no time.

"Remaining hostiles are 10-99, administer." Five shrugged as she emerged behind the door, removing her pistol from its holster. _No better way to fight monsters, I suppose._ She did not hesitate.

…

Khato Tirin had been tempted to rant on the loudspeaker in an attempt to demoralize the invaders, but frankly after watching them in action he was almost certain they were synthetics. He had never heard of Alliance soldiers using shields, their voices were robotic, their terminology was confusingly clinical (he had checked his translator for glitches three times), and he had never even heard anything remotely like the weaponry they were using now. He had sent a brief transmission to his contact on Torfan, but one of the teams had made a beeline for the communications array's control center. After scything through twenty of his guards, they had disabled the array and begun actively hunting down any surviving resistance, despite Tirin's repeated attempts at surrender.

Tirin watched dispassionately as said team dragged a screaming survivor out of a ventilation grate and executed him on the spot. Whatever guilt he felt was muted. His breathing was ragged, his heart was pounding, but his mind was cool and collected. Facing one's own complete and assured destruction was strangely liberating.

He muttered a brief prayer for the dead as the door behind him slid open. He took a moment to contemplate his office. He had been very proud of it just a few hours ago. Furniture from Illium, a fridge containing mostly Shard Wine, a screen that offered a fabulous view into a nearby nebula…he wondered if any kind of afterimage would be burned into his retinas for the split second he was still alive after the synthetics shot him in the back of the head. He waited.

"Overwatch, we have located suspect. Contain and secure." Someone kicked his legs out from under him, and Tirin fell with a grunt. His hands were forced behind his back and cuffed. The synthetic voice continued, "Overwatch, Khar'shan subprime has been apprehended. Containing retinal access and awaiting exfil." Two binds were wrapped around Tirin's two pairs of eyes and he was lifted back off his feet. The synthetics marched him off, continuing their meaningless jabber. Tirin was very impressed at how organic the hands on his arms felt. For a moment he actually considered the possibility there were people under the white and gold combat armor.

…

After setting up a living space on Tuchanka, it seemed the first order of business was meeting the Krogan Battlemaster they had hired to train them. Shepard, having been raised on the decidedly non-tolerant Terra Nova had never seen a Krogan in person before. She was aware of no small amount of cultural sympathy at their plight, but had never been that interested in alien affairs past adolescence. It was beyond her pay grade to deal with now, and voicing any kind of interest in alien culture or history back in school was frowned upon. _Alliance first._

A bombed out old Krogan factory floor had been designated as their barracks. They had swiftly been informed that arms and armor would be issued and that they would be responsible for defending the barracks from encroaching Tuchanka wildlife. They added that hostile Krogan clans currently fell under the category of "Tuchanka wildlife," and that their instructor was well versed on killing Krogan. Shepard had to admit that this fact brought her very little relief.

She and the nineteen other trainees stood in front of the already somewhat tarnished sleeping bags they had set up among the debris. An officer had just been in and told them to stand at attention – the Krogan Battlemaster was coming. They had been waiting for two minutes now, making awkward eye contact with each other at random. Shepard could not help but notice that most of the glances directed at her were focused on the burned side of her face. She was still working on growing her hair back to cover it. Knowing her hair, and how much had been scorched off, that could well take a few months. She knew it didn't matter. Surviving on Tuchanka was going to take priority.

The door to the derelict factory rolled open slowly, hidden mechanisms squealing in protest. Every recruit in the room was now straining their eyes to get a good look at their battlemaster while still standing at attention. Shepard caught a basic crimson shape out of the corner of her eye, but had to wait until the Krogan meandered his way to the center of their encampment.

His armor was a deep set red, matching his predatory eyes. His width was equal to that of about two and a half Shepards, but his height was surprisingly short. Shepard was surprised to see that he had both a tail and some kind of shell under his armor – she was almost certain that there used to be some terrestrial animal with similar properties, but could not recall the name. She was not close enough to see the battlemaster's face closely, but she could see several rather deep scars crisscrossing it. Overall her verdict on the Krogan was that of extreme physical hardiness. Past that, she had no idea.

"Hmph." The Krogan kept turning, keeping an eye on all of the recruits. His eye fell on Shepard, latching immediately on the badly burned section of her face. Despite herself, Shepard felt her face twitch and had to resist an urge to turn away. The Krogan grinned in a way that showed off his numerous teeth and stomped his way to Shepard, stopping only a scarce few inches from her face. Staring at her directly, he leaned his face in and sniffed twice. Shepard continued to stare straight forward, now convinced that matchless adherence to protocol would be the only thing that would convince the Alliance that letting the Krogan eat her would be a waste of fine military talent.

"Male, or female?" The Krogan grunted, though his voice carried well enough. "I'm asking you. Look at me, human." Shepard met his unblinking red eyes but did not speak. They narrowed. "What are you? Male? Or female? You all smell the same to me."

"I'm a female, sir." Adrian said, wondering if the spelling of her name had anything to do with it – it had confused the hell out of her teachers back in school when she was first introduced to them, and explaining the lengthy series of pranks, compromises, and a tug of war over the birth certificate between her history buff of a father and her no-nonsense mother always took a while. When the Krogan opened his mouth again, Shepard could not help but feel some relief underneath the mounting terror.

"Your females look like Asari? You've got the…" He rubbed the front of his armor, sneering.

"Boobs, sir?" Shepard said, despite herself. She heard at least one other recruit make a sharp intake of breath on reflex. She felt her lips twitch, more out of nerves than humor. The Krogan's teeth were rounded off like an herbivore's, but they were large and plentiful. The Krogan stepped back, folding his arms.

"I meant mammary glands. Never understood the appeal. You do not need to address me as sir, human." The Krogan was still gazing intently at Shepard.

"S- pardon?"

"I am Urdnot Wrex, though Wrex is fine. Those are battle wounds?" He extended a finger, pointing at the marks on Shepard's face.

"I…I received those wounds in combat, sir," Shepard returned Wrex's gaze, trying to gauge the hostility behind those red eyes. "A stifled high-explosive grenade on Elysium."

Wrex grunted, but Shepard was not certain as to the intention behind it. She just wanted him to drill someone else. It wasn't even as if he was raving at everyone and trying to make recruits crack up. He was just making her deeply uncomfortable.

"Don't call me sir. And good wounds like that are hard to come by honestly, stop trying to hide them. What's your name?"

"Corporal Adrian Shepard, sir," Shepard said, silently cursing at the lifetime of upbringing that taught her how to address a superior.

"I'll remember that. That's one of your males?" Wrex jerked a thumb at a man standing at attention behind him, who was going almost cross-eyed out of sheer determination.

"He is."

Wrex nodded, turning. Shepard half expected every step that Wrex took would cause the ground to shake, but he made surprisingly little noise. He growled at the recruit.

"Name?"

"Lieutenant Barney Franco, sir. I mean, Wrex, sir. I mean, Wrex." Though she felt more than a little empathy for the man, she was pleased that she was not the only one somewhat overwhelmed by the Krogan's presence. She gazed at Wrex's back and tail despite herself, trying to remember what animal he somewhat resembled.

"How did you end up here? And dispense with the titles, they mean nothing on Tuchanka."

"Was recommended after extended action on Benning, s- Wrex. My squad quelled two riots after Stukov was assassinated, no peacekeeping casualties."

"So you got here because you were good at killing your own people," Wrex snorted, "Amazing what your Alliance thinks they're ready for, when all of their recent conflicts have been spent fighting themselves. You ever fought anyone with shields?"

"Uh, negative." Shepard heard the uncertainty in Franco's voice and wondered if he was sweating. It was oddly satisfying to see an officer get a dressing down for once, though she supposed it had to happen fairly often in life. Just generally not in places where a grunt got to see. "I was told that shields are generally ineffective against our weaponry."

"But they're effective everywhere else," Wrex said, chuckling, "Your Alliance realized that most of your day to day operations would be against other humans, and they were unwilling to outfit their entire army with shields…because of cost. Now with war on the horizon, they are…" Wrex paused. "Adjusting their sails? Was that used correctly?"

There were nods and a chorus of "Yes Wrex" and "Yes sir" followed by murmured apologies from the latter camp. Wrex turned from Franco and stood in the center of the encampment before continuing.

"A planet destroyed by its species' own destructive tendencies. A brutal war fought, lost, and a species sterilized. The aftermath of that conflict left the survivors diminished, suspicious, and hostile to all other races. Do I speak of humanity, or the Krogan?" Wrex paused again, turning to stare at each recruit in turn. "Both our races expect pity, and yet are insulted by it. We were wounded by our pasts and now cannot escape its shadow. Our races are dying," Wrex smiled, or at least bared his teeth. "But we're no longer alone in our misery."

"I welcome you all to Tuchanka, where I was born. Your Alliance brought me here to train you. I was not hired for my winning personality – I was a professional bounty hunter and lost track of my kills long ago. A thousand years of life will do that. Here you will survive in the galaxy's harshest environment – facing down the galaxy's most relentless killers. You've made more headway with the clans than any other alien, but there are still many more that would be happy to shoot you dead and eat your corpse. I am here to teach you how to shoot back and eat _theirs_."

"Your Alliance has made many soldiers, well trained in the use of select weaponry and masters of the more probable battlefields. Here in the bloody dust of Tuchanka, you will become warriors – comfortable on any battlefield, with any weapon. If your Alliance is to survive, the galaxy will demand no less." Wrex pounded his fists together suddenly, the dull thud echoing through the factory.

"Let's get to work."


	7. Smothered Past

**A/N: ****Thank you for all of the support thus far.**

"Stage one of Operation: Damning Echo is a success," a voice reported over the intercom of the synthetic's ship. "We are authorized to begin second stage. Three, commence deprogramming." Khato Tirin's lower pair of eyes cracked open, immediately filling with violent white light. He felt groggy, and vaguely recalled regaining consciousness to find several tubes in his arms before being put under again. He expected the tubes were to feed and water him – it made sense. What use would synthetics have for food and water aboard their ship? The simulated gravity that currently kept him and the chair he was tethered to was for his benefit only.

He could not turn his head. Some sort of device was keeping it in place. In front of him was only a smooth floor, with some kind of hatch a few feet away. Khato gradually opened his upper pair of eyes, trying to get a better view of his surroundings. No such luck. Whatever was keeping his head in place mostly blocked his vision.

A figure in white-gold armor had apparently been standing behind Khato, as it rounded itself into his corner of vision. It smacked him hard on his left cheek, making Khato grunt in pain.

"Suspect is conscious. Deploy parasite and commence recording."

Whatever response the synthetic received must have been directed to its headset, as a few seconds later it turned to face the hatch. Khato did not hear it open, but he did see some sort of cage slide up out of it. Soft, strange noises emanated from it, and he could see something small moving around in there.

"Looks good." The figure turned back to Khato, staring him in the face before stepping to the side.

"This," the synthetic stated, jerking its thumb back to the cage, "Is a headcrab."

Khato got a good look at the creature. It was about two feet long and tan-colored. It was currently scuttling along the floor of the cage with two longer front claws raised as it patrolled its small cage on much smaller legs (Khato could not see how many). Aside from being aware that such creatures made up a not insignificant portion of a human's diet, he had no idea how a headcrab was supposed to behave.

"The galaxy at large is mostly aware of a headcrab's culinary potential. Humanity, however, has a great deal firsthand experience in their other uses." The synthetic strode over to the cage, lifted it from its place, and deposited it neatly at Khato Tirin's feet. The creature shrieked as it was set down, and Khato became intensely aware of a very sudden movement coming from the cage.

"One of the first major treatises between the Council and Alliance was the usage of biological weapons in conflict. The Combine demonstrated firsthand the efficacy of headcrabs as biological weapons. Conversely, the Vortigaunts demonstrated the devastating potential of antlions. At councilor Vance's suggestion, both were prohibited. I will now explain the former."

"The headcrab is a parasitic organism. Upon spotting a victim, it will attempt to latch on to the subject's head, if applicable. Upon securing a grip, the headcrab will plant its forward mandibles – that would be the long ones here…" The synthetic pulled up the box and brought the creature to Khato's face. It hissed at him and tried to tackle the side of the cage, the aforementioned longer mandibles poking through the bars and almost scratching Khato's face. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead.

"…then the fangs will pierce the forehead to deploy a fast-acting sedative. It does not numb pain, but it ceases all voluntary motor functions. Complete paralysis of said motor functions occurs in around fifteen seconds. Finally, the headcrab secures full motor control of the host by using its beak to break through the skull and reach the brain. You will be fully conscious while it does so. Past that begins primary necrosis…" The synthetic put the cage down again before looming over Khato's face, its faceplate reflecting harshly off the intense lights. "The headcrab will leech all nutrients from your body. The eyes are the first to go. I understand that Batarians _hate_ that. In a human, typically the chest splits open as most of the skin, muscle, and organs within are cannibalized. We have documented recordings of their effects on Turians and Asari. We are all very curious as to what would happen to a Batarian…"

"I…" Khato stared, goggle eyed at the creature in the shaking box. "What do you want?"

"First, a confession. You supplied weapons that lead to the raid on Elysium?"

Khato could not help but sneer, despite himself. "You would not have brought me here had you thought I hadn't. What would happen if I said no?" Khato immediately regretted these words.

The synthetic kicked the cage with a combat boot, rocking it slightly and causing the headcrab inside to shriek in rage and fear. Khato licked his lips.

"Yes…I was not alone, and it was under heavy coercion, but I supplied weapons. The money was good. The threats made on my family had I refused were real."

The synthetic seemed to pause. "The Hegemony had to force you to aid them?"

Khato Tirin chuckled. "Is there no such thing as an honest weapons dealer? I've made regrettable decisions, but I don't knowingly fund terrorist actions. Leads to _this_." He glanced down repeatedly at the cage to make his point. "Besides, however the Hegemony chooses to manipulate Karza's words, it was made clear in his writings that enabling the slaughter of the innocent is a grievous sin."

Again, the synthetic paused, its posture becoming somewhat less overtly intimidating. It was back momentarily in full force.

"Regret buys back none of the lives lost. Your confession is sufficient. Now we need information on Torfan's defenses. Our information suggests you have no small amount of knowledge on the subject."

Tirin's lower eyes flicked back to the cage, while his upper set continued to stare at the faceplate.

"No."

"Bravery will buy you little here, Tirin. You will not be missed. We are scuttling this ship following the conclusion of this operation. Whether you are still shambling about in eternal agony within its hold while this headcrab is latched to your face or not is within your power." It tapped the top of the cage, prompting a growl in response. "Please…coercion worked so well before. When it was the Hegemony asking. We are simply seeking a means of safe reprisal. That slaver's paradise has had this a long time coming."

"It's not…just slavers. Broad generalization." Khato weakly struggled, but he was well bound and still weak from the synthetic's drugs. Where the hell had the Alliance found these things? "People living there…trying to escape the Hegemony. Torfan relatively safe…please!" He was biting back tears.

"Do you need to inspect this headcrab more closely?" The synthetic deftly popped the top of the cage open before expertly snagging the headcrab before it could leap. It struggled wildly in the synthetic's hands, its legs and mandibles flailing while it hissed madly. Khato took a good long look at its underbelly. A large mouth dominated it, its lipless edges smeared with red. Inside the mouth he caught a glimpse of some vicious looking claw-like beak. The synthetic took a step closer, and the headcrab started straining forward, its mandibles inches from Khato's face. He started screaming.

"Last chance, Tirin!" The synthetic's mechanical voice bellowed over the deafening din, "I let go in five seconds. Five…"

Tirin held fast until two. Then he broke through his sobs and told the synthetic everything it wanted to know. He was no expert on Torfan's fortifications, but he knew well enough the kind of security that could be expected at major cities, what kind of traffic went through monthly, and some of the more noteworthy features of its orbital defenses. Most of his family lived there, after all, and his uncle was head of security at one of its major spaceports.

He continued for some time, trying to drown out the sounds of the now re-caged headcrab. The synthetic cut him off with a raised hand.

"That was all we needed. I'm getting rid of the parasite." The second sentence seemed only partially directed at Khato. The synthetic lifted the cage and put it back on the platform the cage had come in on. It slid back out of sight and the hatch shut. "Re-administer nerve suppressant. I'm coming up." Khato felt pressure on his arm and his vision began to swim. His last thoughts were another quick prayer, mostly directed towards his family on Torfan.

…

"Suspect broke. Had it all recorded. Recommend flushing it out of the airlock." Kilo-Prime's shoulders stiffened as Three's words reached his ears.

"Excuse me?"

"He said everything we needed to hear. Now we just have to cross-reference it with the other captures on Damning Echo and we'll have everything we need. He's no longer necessary. Flush-"

"So I did hear you correctly. You started referring to Khato Tirin as a "he", which is a start, but I think you may have misread what this operation was about, and forgot a few basic tenets of basic compassion." He turned to Three as she frowned inside of her helmet, wondering what she had done wrong.

"Helmet off, Lawson." Prime hit his clasps and slid his helmet off easily, revealing the stern face of Oleg Petrovsky. Kilo-3 sighed as she undid her own clasps and removed the helmet, allowing herself to be Miranda Lawson once again. "I want you to look me in the eye, Miranda, and tell me that Khato Tirin deserves to be shut in an airlock and then flushed into space. And I want you to use his name."

Steady, Miranda quickly shook out her hair and met Petrovsky's glare.

"Khato Tirin, a Batarian weapons dealer whose weapons helped massacre Alliance citizens on Elysium, should be put in an airlock and shot out into space. His eyes should burst and his blood should boil, and he should be awake for every second of it." Miranda did not blink. Petrovsky sighed and pounded a nearby wall.

"This organization…do you really think that demonstrating this kind of unflinching brutality will impress me? Or any of my superiors? There's bravery, there's necessary cruelty, and then there is deliberate dehumanization and systematic sadism. Did we overthrow the Combine only to take up their mantle of violent imperialism?"

"You sounded happy enough spouting COPspeak," Miranda retorted, thinking back to the raid, "And where was this merciful streak when I suggested taking prisoners?"

Oleg turned a deep shade of red. "When we are in battle, we are at war. Our blood is up, we're well armed, and we know what we're doing. In that case, we were following orders. Important orders. I admit I have a fascination with the Combine's old method of communicating with their soldiers. I do _not_, most emphatically do _not_, endorse their actual methods of warfare. When we are not under orders, we must do our utmost to act with empathy…like human beings."

Miranda looked at him with pity. "What does that mean anymore, sir? What does that accomplish?"

Oleg looked her in the eye. "It insures our victory over the Combine was total. That it was physical, spiritual, and moral. I am certain of the physical, despairing of the spiritual, and still have hope for the moral. Even in…the most extreme of branches," Petrovsky rubbed his red eyes, suddenly looking very tired, "We still have to possess standards. And besides, I just received orders as to what to do with Khato."

"You could have said so, sir. What are they?"

"Shoot him in the head," Oleg sighed, looking somewhat gray, "Then throw him out of the airlock."

Miranda shrugged, turning away from him to head back and retrieve Khato.

"More humane that way I suppose," Miranda said over her shoulder, "We're making strides, sir." She shook her head in disbelief once she was out of Petrovsky's sight.

…

"This is it, isn't it?" Khato was bound by the arms and legs and now on his knees, facing the open airlock. He was turned away from Kilo team, who had all gathered to watch their capture exit their lives in a very sudden manner. No one responded. Kilo-3 had put her helmet back on, and now strode behind the captured Batarian and pointed a pistol barrel at the back of his neck.

"Please listen…" the Batarian was still speaking. Kilo-Three turned to Prime, who made a gesture to halt. Three sighed and lowered the barrel. Khato Tirin continued.

"You're going to attack Torfan, and it's my fault. Please…tell my family to get out of there. Nothing specific, just don't let them be caught there when your Alliance arrives. I can get you their Extranet info…it's-" The Batarian began spouting off addresses. The conversation was being recorded, of course, but Kilo-3 was rapidly beginning to suspect they were not going to get anything valuable out of doing so.

"Please…I need you to guarantee my family's safety…" Kilo-3 turned to Prime. He shook his head sadly. A single gunshot echoed through the small spaces of their ship.

…

It was five hours after Wrex's initial introduction when a nearby Krogan clan began their first attack. The factory that Shepard and the other recruits were encamped was several miles away from the small Alliance settlement they had come from, so the number of defenders aside from themselves and the half dozen instructors was small. Their first hint that they were under attack was when a massive battle truck crashed through one of the more damaged sections of the factory. With a yell they had awoken, fortunately already fully armored as per Wrex's advice.

They had scrambled for their sidearms and began laying down suppressing fire on the enormous figures emerging from the truck, but it was to no avail. The figures had advanced, chuckling, firing massive looking shotguns at the defenders. Shepard was the third or so to make it to a weapon's rack, and immediately procured a pulse rifle.

The recruits had all been equipped with shields and then warned that while immensely helpful on the average battlefield, Tuchanka would quickly reveal their weaknesses and punish overconfidence.

"Shields are good at stopping two things," Wrex had said, "Bullets, and explosions. Even then it isn't for long. When a varren or a klixen gets up in your face and starts clawing at you, you'll find out pretty quickly why the Krogan don't prize them too highly."

That being said, Shepard couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline as one of the invader's shotguns grazed her as she darted behind some rubble, feeling nothing as the blast was deflected. Her excitement diminished somewhat when she realized she was not wearing a helmet.

Curses and gunfire were exchanged as the Krogan continued to advance. Five of them had emerged from what Shepard what later learn was called a Tomkah, and all of them carried shotguns. Shepard let off a burst from her rifle and watched the slugs rip through the foremost Krogan's shields and into his flesh. He grunted at the pain but continued to advance anyway, bellowing. Thinking quickly and only panicking a little, Shepard aimed carefully and fired an orb. The rogue ball of energy hurtled out of her gun and slammed into and then past the Krogan as he disintegrated without fuss. The recruits ducked once they saw the orb, one of them even calling Shepard an idiot as it ricocheted off the Tomkah and back at them.

"Remember Basic – orbs bounce off shields!" Shepard called back once the orb had exceeded its three second life span and, as her mother liked to say, "collapsed back into _science_." "Knock down the Krogan's shields and vaporize them!"

The Krogan evidently had not liked the sound of that, as they ceased their careful but ceaseless advance to charge very suddenly into their midst. This caused the recruits to engage in a dizzying crossfire as they shouted themselves hoarse, dropping one of the Krogan while another rammed poor Barney Franco off of his feet. He went flying, collapsing with an audible thud somewhere out of Shepard's vision. She barely noticed anyway. She was unloading her pulse rifle into the back of the nearest Krogan, swiftly breaking through his defenses. He collapsed. She heard a roar and looked up.

Emerging from the same entrance as earlier, Urdnot Wrex pounded into the camp at high speed. He collided with a nearby Krogan headfirst, knocking him sideways before rounding and headbutting another in the face. He let out another deafening scream and fired his shotgun at the stunned Krogan, who fell over in a puddle of green blood.

The factory went silent. Wrex chuckled, a deep throaty sound, as he stamped on the single surviving Krogan. He turned to the remaining recruits.

"Figured you would need a little help to survive the first night. Tend to your wounded, and your dead if you have any. Next time, make sure they're all dead when you drop them. Krogan have a nasty habit of getting back up after you think you've killed them." He nodded at Shepard. "Vaporizing them does the trick though. Might want to remember that."

…

Three recruits had decided to bow out after the first night's ambush. Franco had been sent back a paraplegic, most likely now regretting having signed so many waivers. Two others had died in the attack, but Shepard would shortly forget their names. Tuchanka would create more pressing concerns.

Their first day had been spent setting up fortifications. The factory had not exactly been secure before the attack, and having a huge hole in it created by a Tomkah had further decreased its defensive capabilities. While they had been patching up their defenses by setting up a watch system, Combine Shield barriers, and gun emplacements, Wrex had cheerfully been instructing them on the finer details of how best to kill Krogan. This unnerved one of the other recruits to such a degree that she could not help but retort, "Aren't you people dying?"

Wrex had turned to face her and said calmly, "We survived thousands of years of killing each other. It was only when aliens had a crack at it that we finally broke. We're facing no tomorrow…may as well get rich today." He did not sound terribly convinced at his own words, but it was not a line of discussion anyone was willing to pursue.

The second day was spent with a human instructor, a Commander Wales, who was apparently one of the few Shanxi veterans willing to come to Tuchanka. He went over the finer details of shields, demonstrating appropriate maintenance and a few of their weaknesses. That night a pack of varren attacked while Shepard was on watch. She drove them off with two other recruits using only shotguns. After losing a quick game of rock-paper-scissors, Shepard was the one who had to remove the bodies.

The third day was spent demonstrating the applications and weaknesses of biotics. To everyone's surprise, Urdnot Wrex possessed biotic capabilities and was more than happy to show them off.

"One thing your Alliance has in common with the Krogan," Wrex grunted as he lifted a recruit volunteer over his head with biotics, "Is that neither of us are willing to risk making biotics. Your Alliance got wind that they would need to expose embryos to eezo and promptly backpedaled on any research they had. And as for the Krogan…" He dropped the volunteer suddenly, causing him to land somewhat awkwardly. "…no one is going to mess with our children. Never again."

It was to go on like this for several months. Three more recruits gave after a brief field trip in which everyone got a good long look at a thresher maw. Another became extremely sick five weeks in. She was diagnosed with acute radiation sickness due to an improperly done seal and had to be taken back off-world.

Shepard herself was very taken with the idea of just giving up and going home, but found courage in the most unlikely of places. Unable to sleep after a particularly grueling nightmare involving a thresher maw with Wrex's face, she had been rummaging in her personal belongings for the small bottle of ryncol that Wrex had given her when she asked for a sleeping aid. Instead her hands had found a square container. Curious, she turned on a weak headlamp and examined it. It was the gift her father had left her. Bored and certain that the gift would act as a fine means of enabling sleep, she opened it.

The book (of course it was a book) was smaller than she had expected. A red ribbon for marking pages trailed out of the top, resting on the book's black and green camo pattern cover. Written in gold in front were the words: "**Aftermath: The Unabridged Journal of Adrian Shepard – Chronicles of City 14**."

_History_. Shepard snorted and took out the letter within the package, her name written in cursive on the front. She unfolded the paper and scanned it as best as she could in the poor lighting.

_Hey Adrian,_

_Sorry I couldn't stay longer, but the TRUTHS I was espousing became too much for my shrew of a bodyguard. Also, some of the guys back home who were quite handy with Molotov cocktails were becoming certain that I was either a political prisoner or dead and were starting to cause a ruckus. You know how it is._

_Anyway, I know you never cared much for history, but that's because all of the history you read in school was __government sanctioned. __It was uplifting but_ _boring, all about the triumph of human will and other such bullshit. You might have read snippets of this journal in class (and I'm sure it caused all manner of embarrassment regarding your name, after reading this I think you will wear it better) but never the whole thing. Get to the later chapters and you'll see why. I used to curse my grandfather (your great-grandfather) at all the militaristic crap he influenced our society with, but that changed when I got to the later chapters…_

_Back when I was a history teacher, the question I received most often regarding my subject was why it was important. This journal is an exemplary reason. Through understanding of the past we can better determine how to predict and influence the future. Your namesake was one of the few people back after Occupation who had experienced all the glory and gluttony of the modern U.S. before the Combine arrived. Seeing that window into a better time and witnessing as my poor grandfather slowly watches any hopes of reclaiming it dissolve as anarchy descends…it's worth reading. And it becomes very clear why the Alliance downplays this book's existence._

_Anyway, I also threw in some Asari chocolate assuming this book fails to get your attention _(Shepard was already eating said chocolate as quietly as she could in order to avoid having to share) _but hope you will at the very least give it a skim. It's got striders in it. You always did love stories about striders._

_I wish you the very best,_

_Love,_

_Dad._

Licking chocolate off of her fingers and cleaning her face as best as she could, she settled down to read a few chapters. After a boring ten minutes, she skipped to a part with striders and then fell asleep. Despite a lackluster start, she would continue to read it throughout training, and realized quite quickly that despite her current conditions, at least one of her ancestors had survived far worse.

…

_Attached are all details we could unearth regarding Torfan defenses. All loose ends already tied up. Recommend initial strike within next nine months. Will begin Operation: Vicious Mercy following successful assault. Message will delete itself and all records within thirty seconds of opening it. _

Udina frowned and watched as the message winked out of existence. The attachments remained, but he knew that in order to maintain any necessary facades of innocence, he could not open them. Besides, it was doubtful he could make heads or tails of them anyway. He quickly sent the attachments to Admiral Hackett and stretched, frowning. He and Kilgore had swept the office for Salarian bugs again yesterday, and found another six. It was too much to hope that it would be all of them.

He was about to leave his office and call it a day when he was surprised by a response from Hackett as he closed his laptop. Udina checked it, curious.

_Checks out. God only knows how you got this. This should save an immeasurable number of human lives. We-_

The screen started to crack up with static. Udina tapped it a few times, confused. _What in the hell is going on?_ The static took over the screen entirely. Udina sat down in the chair again, half tempted to contact the Asari secretary downstairs and send for a technician. The static was now breaking up every few seconds before there would be a short glimpse of an image, but only for an instant, and Udina had no idea what that image was supposed to be. Udina counted the seconds before each break. _Roughly four._ The break was getting longer, and Udina was starting to make out a red background with some sort of figure at the forefront. Udina was absently hammering away at all of his keys on his keyboard in an effort to restore some semblance of sanity to his computer when the static abruptly stopped. His screen returned to Hackett's email, but there was a new notification in Udina's inbox. Curious, Udina looked at it.

There was no subject, and strangely enough, no address. _That shouldn't be damn well possible._ Udina clicked on it anyway, prepared to engage in the time honored move of immediately shutting down the computer if there was a virus. There was only one line of text.

**Arrival: 4/5/2186**

Annoyed, Udina deleted the email, dismissing the entire affair as some elaborate Salarian hoax. He strongly doubted there was any inherent meaning behind the listed date.


	8. Alpha Foxtrot Uniform

"We will be ready to jump within the next thirteen hours," the Vortigaunt said, inclining his head in Hackett's direction, "We stand at your disposal. The Second and Fifth fleets will shadow Torfan much akin to your locusts of old. The resistance however, will not be unsubstantial. The Admiral Hackett is ready?"

Hackett nodded, not turning away from the silent nebula he was surveying out of a viewport. He heard the Vortigaunt pad away. Hackett gently exhaled through his nostrils, going over everything that could go wrong.

_We're bringing the full might of the Alliance to bear…_Torfan presented a unique opportunity, he had been told. This would be the first large scale xeno ground engagement since Shanxi, and there would be no holding back. He had been authorized to use planetary scale warp cannon bombardment, there would be multiple Vortigaunt ground teams, and several newly christened spec-ops teams from the Killing Grounds back on earth…as well as operatives from a facility on Tuchanka that in no way actually existed.

They would be exploiting every weakness they knew regarding Torfan. Their orbital defenses in particular would be useless thanks to the intel supplied by Udina, and the defenses on the planet would consist mainly of whatever the pirates had felt like paying for. One of the rear admirals had called Torfan a "milk run," but a deep pit of doubt had settled in Hackett's gut.

_We have the facts, but do we possess the faith?_ The desire for vengeance could only carry soldiers so far, especially when so few of them ultimately had been affected by the raid on Elysium. Torfan was a justified target, but as for what followed – if this went badly, it bode extremely ill for the push into Batarian space, as well as the Alliance's future in general. Hackett would follow his orders regardless, and try to bring as many people back home as he could. _Making these people believe that such slaughter is necessary, however, is beyond my abilities._

…

_November 22, 2031_

_Of all things, I think I really miss bacon the most. Forget being warm, we have plenty of fires burning in trashcans (even though it is getting fucking freezing). Forget safety, I was in the marines. Just want some bacon for breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. _

_Worked with the freaks again today. Quick jaunt into a hive to kill a guardian. Getting easier – I've worked a lot of CQC training and fighting like this just seems familiar. The freaks assure me that I was at Black Mesa, but I don't remember the place. I keep half thinking this is some kind of fever dream, but I don't remember dreaming about tooth-aches and constant low grade hunger before now. This is just too miserable. The freaks tell me that I'm important, but honestly I just feel misplaced. I'm not supposed to be here…_

_Sometimes I try to think about what's gone, but it's too big. San Diego – gone. Pretty much all of the west coast, actually. Apparently there's only a handful of places still habitable in America. It's like all of those genocides I'd hear about in Africa. Horrible, yeah. But I can't work a real sense of hatred and despair until I see it. At least working for this Calhoun idiot isn't much worse than Basic. _

"Four hours until drop," reported Captain Travis, causing Shepard to look up from her book, "We're due in a shuttle in three. Also got a padre coming in the next two, if any of you need one. Lieutenant Shepard, could you come here for a moment?"

Adrian stowed away her book, grabbed her helmet that she had set aside and met Travis in the corner he had carved out for himself in their little barracks.

"Aye, sir?"

"You've gone up against Batarians before, correct? I assume you didn't burn half your face off at Elysium by accident?"

Shepard's face burned red and a sizeable amount of rage began to blossom in her chest.

"No accident, sir. Batarian grenade." _I assume it was head-butting a Krogan that caused your brain damage, sir?_

"Well, a lot of the troops are pretty nervous. Can't figure out why - my father fought at Shanxi and said the Turians weren't hot shit back then. I see no reason why these Batarians should be any bother now. How do they fight?"

"Same as any xeno, sir," Shepard tried not to clench her jaw, "They use the same kind of shields and guns as the Turians, probably just lower quality. Batarians are more willing to retreat than Turians, I suppose, and their weapons tend to trade some reliability for raw power. Expect some nasty injuries among our wounded."

Travis nodded. "So, nothing special then? Good. Our team is one of several being sent to deal with some of these self-proclaimed pirate lords and their little pillow forts. I was told you would be a valuable asset – some crap about anti-xeno training. I still expect you to follow my orders however, alright?" He clapped Shepard on the shoulder. "It's good to have you on board, Shepard. I think we'll do fine."

Shepard nodded, feeling the anger subside. She had not survived Tuchanka just to lose her shit in front of her superior officer and get busted. She tried to resume her reading, only looking up when a door opened, revealing a Vortigaunt and a worried looking padre. The padre was waved over by a smiling corporal while the Vortigaunt plodded over to Shepard. Adrian had never had much to do with Vortigaunts, as they were usually assigned jobs that she had little to do with. After dealing with Wrex, she didn't find matching its gaze terribly difficult.

"Far distant eyes look out through yours," the Vortigaunt said, his tone neutral.

"I'm sorry?" Shepard did not know what to make of this. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"The Shepard need not perform any services for us. We await greater deeds." The Vortigaunt bowed. "We eagerly suspect that ultimately, the Shepard's contribution will not be without impact."

…

"All reactors are charged," the helmsman reported, "Coordinates are set. Second Fleet is standing ready. We are linked and awaiting your go, sir."

"No sense in waiting. Our window is only so large. Open the portal." Hackett cleared his throat and watched the displays change as a sizeable amount of power was distributed to the teleport. There was a slight shudder and Hackett felt the hair on the back of his neck rise up as static electricity (thankfully harmless) built up in the ship. A Vortigaunt spoke up over the intercom about twenty seconds later.

"The heavens tear asunder for us." Hackett turned to a viewport and gazed at the dizzying size of the ball of energy now present in front of the fleet. Checking that the SSV _New Mesa_'s weapons were at the ready, he gave the signal before turning again to the CIC.

There was a green flash of light as the Fifth and Second fleets pushed through the portal, followed by darkness as the laws of physics tried to accommodate the new rules imposed by the Vortigaunts. Hackett counted to four on his invisible fingers, deaf to all but the sound of his own breathing. With another green flash and a shriek, the human fleets were dumped just outside the orbit of Torfan.

Hackett put a finger on the com button, addressing his fleet.

"All ships, engage your marked orbital platforms and commence the ground assault." Hackett turned to the CIC and watched with grim satisfaction at the images. Their defenses were more or less exactly where the intel had put them, making for a quick and devastating alpha strike. The warp cannons of nearly every ship in both fleets discharged almost in unison. The images turned red and broke up on the screen, prompting a slight smile from Hackett. Already he could see hundreds of little shuttles breaking through Torfan's atmosphere. That smile wiped from his face as his ship suddenly shook and several hundred new and unfamiliar signatures popped onto the tactical map.

"What the hell just happened?!" Hackett yelled, his eyes on the map. The bastards had immediately taken out one of his cruisers on arrival, explaining the shaking. "These are Hegemony ships – Fifth Fleet, engage, engage! Cover the dreadnoughts and prep fighters – how the hell-"

"Second fleet here," Admiral Korsmeyer broke in over the intercom, "It looks like a trap. These bastards made a quick jump from within this system just outside warp cannon range. Moving my ships closer and preparing to engage. We've got a small pirate flotilla coming into view from the other side of the planet – looks like they're mostly equipped with orbit to ground weapons. They coordinated this. Do we intercept? Our ground teams are going to have trouble without support."

Hackett watched another of his cruisers break up as the fleets got over their surprise and began to exchange fire. "Negative, we need every ship on this. Closing the distance." Hackett glared at the map. The Batarians had a comparable number of ships, and they were abusing their advantage in range quite heavily. Their fighters began to close in.

_Didn't do all of your homework, did you?_ The Batarian fighters began to wink out very quickly after reaching the unlucky frigate leading their sordid charge, the SSV _St. Paul_. _Plasma auto cannons will do that._ The _St. Paul_ was overwhelmed and destroyed about thirty seconds later, but enhancing the screen around it revealed a disproportionate amount of Batarian wreckage.

Whatever slight amount of morbid satisfaction Hackett might have felt was eclipsed by the arrival of a second Batarian fleet, three dreadnoughts included. His jaw clenched, his teeth pressed against each other hard enough to ache as his stomach knotted with panic.

"Hackett here, Fifth fleet: engage the new arrivals. I'm authorizing the use of hopwires on those dreadnoughts. Close the distance and let's pay them back tenfold." Hackett wiped his brow and watched the image of a cruiser tank a blast from a dreadnought meant for him, the lifeless wreckage spinning wildly before fading out of the tactical map.

…

Donnel Udina's mind was not focused on the Torfan debacle, though he knew it had begun a few hours ago. Colonization rights in the Traverse had become a pressing concern of late, especially considering how close they were to open war. Total victory was too much to hope for, and Udina needed to review planets that were a reasonable distance from both the Terminus Systems and the Hegemony while also meeting several of the EIS's recent demands regarding the quality of the planet. Udina had found three suitable candidates, but doubted it would make anyone happy, least of all himself.

Reading up on the unlikelihood of successful agriculture on Feros and preparing to cross it off, Udina saw movement past his video screen and stood as the door opened. A tall figure strode in with purpose, his arms folded behind his back. It took Udina a moment to recognize the Batarian Councilor Anto outside of his formal attire.

"Anto, this is-"

"Consider this our declaration of war." Anto produced a pistol from behind his back. Udina did not hear the bullets as the muzzle flashed twice and he was thrown backward, knocking his chair over and collapsing against a now blood-sodden wall. Through half shut eyes he saw the Batarian's mouth open in shock as his back began to spasm. Something began to protrude from his sternum, erupting in a fountain of blood.

_It looks so much like mine…_Udina coughed gently, becoming gradually aware of a looming mountain of pain. His vision was swimming. Ambassador Kilgore's claw emerged almost fully from Anto's chest, the Vortigaunt suddenly looming in Udina's vision. Kilgore's other hand reached out and gripped Anto's face firmly before jerking it sideways, snapping Anto's neck with disturbing ease. The last thing Udina remembered seeing was Kilgore's red eyes staring into his, murmuring as green light began to fill his vision.

"Do not fear the interval of darkness…"

…

It was just after her last squad mate died when the rage began to take hold. Shepard threw caution and a grenade into the wind, scattering the various pirates that had been advancing on her position. Her pulse rifle had already been damaged beyond repair after a rather lucky shot made by a now dead Salarian, so Shepard was stuck with her shotgun. It had thus far proven to be enough.

Shepard leapt after the closest pirate, a Turian, and fired quickly at the small of his back and sending him almost pinwheeling, trailing blue liquid through the air in a bloody arc. Wheeling around, Shepard caught an Asari in her sights. A biotic blast caused Shepard to take a step back, but her shields more or less dissipated the worst of the impact. Shepard, aware of the relative strength of barriers, emptied two more shells at the Asari. The first broke through just barely, the second burst her head open like a rotten melon. Shepard's grenade went off harmlessly, but Shepard could barely hear anything over the dull roar in her own veins.

Three Batarians remained in the enemy squad, spread out behind the various debris. Repeated orbital and air assault had reduced much of the surrounding buildings into so much alien garbage, bringing down far too many good marines to think about in the process. Captain Travis's ill-fated squad had been mostly demolished after the initial bombardment. The pirates started creeping in afterward to mop up what was left.

A Batarian had taken cover around the nearby burned off remains of some kind of foundation. Shepard rushed him, hitting the catch that let the bayonet slip out as a mix of panic and hatred propelled her feet. The first slash of the bayonet broke the shield, causing the now standing Batarian to stagger. Shepard brought the bayonet around in a slash aimed at the Batarian's throat, cutting deep, but not fatal. The Batarian dropped his gun and clutched his neck, all four eyes wide with surprise. They almost seemed to pop out of his skull when Shepard rammed the blade into his gut, twisting it viciously as she brought it back out.

A shot glanced her shields, causing Shepard to retreat behind the smoking ruin, the still living Batarian gurgling and clawing at his stomach wound. Shepard slotted in another three shells as it recharged, tracking where the enemy fire was coming from while also trying to determine where the other Batarian was hiding. When there was a break in the enemy fire she peaked over around the corner, catching a glimpse of movement behind the burnt out wreck of a shuttle. Shepard booked it over there at full speed, listening with no small amount of satisfaction as several shots missed her and she heard the distinct sound of a weapon overheating.

The second Batarian had not been expecting a charge but did hear Shepard. He was ready when she rounded the corner, firing a burst that dropped Shepard's shield and sent a round into her lower chest. On reflex, Shepard unloaded twice before doubling over, winded. Judging from the unpleasant sounds the pirate had made before ceasing all movement, he was no longer a problem. Shepard tried not to fall over and lose hold of her gun as she used one hand to check where the round had punched through. Her fingers brushed over the still hot crater left by the round, but found no blood. With a rattling gasp, Shepard caught her breath and stared down at the armor. It was intact and had held against the bullet, at most creating a nasty welt. It was doubtful she would get that lucky again.

Her momentum halted, Shepard tried to focus on the sole surviving pirate. Glancing around the left side of the shuttle showed that he had vanished from where Shepard was sure he had been firing from. Shepard checked the other side and found him sliding behind some cover. Demonstrating no small lack of competence, the pirate blind-fired at the shuttle, his wild spraying missing Shepard completely. Shepard fired back, aiming at his hands or his gun, but the shot was too high and the shotgun's spread too tight. Shepard reloaded, trying to expose as little of her head as possible. She could see the Batarian scooting sideways behind a burnt off column.

Weary and still somewhat out of breath, Shepard paused and tried to muse as to what Wrex would have done in her situation. Charge, naturally, but he was a Krogan. Failing that, use his biotics…it was probably a dumb question to muse over. Then again, all she really had was a shotgun. She recalled her first raid on a Blood Pack base.

_These guys never expect anyone to charge…imagine the surprise they must feel. These Blood Pack…Turians. A taste of the old ways. A single, well equipped, motivated individual…_

She didn't remember much past that, but it put her in mind of her namesake, as well as Gordon Freeman. It seemed like nearly everyone these days had forgotten the kind of impact an individual could produce without any aid.

_Black Mesa…_

Adrian strode out of cover at an unhurried pace, her shotgun still trained on where the Batarian was hiding. He whipped around from behind the column, causing Shepard to casually unload a shell at him. It mostly missed, but part of the shot badly dinged his shield and staggered him. A second rang out and collapsed his shields fully, though it left him uninjured. The third shot opened his rib cage, allowing Shepard to reach him and plunge her bayonet through his gasping mouth after he had collapsed.

Aside from the not-so-distant sounds of gunfire, explosions, and the occasional screaming, the little arena Shepard had found herself in following her landing on Torfan seemed almost peaceful. She turned to the bunker her team had been supposed to assault. She knew that at least one squad had made it inside before the Batarians had jammed their radios, and she had been told about the kind of resistance they could expect. The odds were not good.

She looked up at the dust choked sky. The bombardment had ceased for the time being, but it would not do to remain. More pirates were bound to arrive, and staying above ground invited additional threats from the air. She checked how many shells she had left – twelve in the gun, five on her person. Feeling more than a little apprehensive, Shepard took the recently fallen pirate's weapon. _At least ammo isn't going to be a problem._ Lieutenant Shepard strode off towards the bunker, quickening her pace as a bomber roared by overhead.

…

"Your C-Sec responded with admirable alacrity, Councilor Turian. We must confess it vexing, however, that such a breach came to pass." Kilgore did not turn to Sparatus as he said this, preferring instead to continue his strange ritual above Udina's unconscious form. The C-Sec team had found the Vortigaunt Ambassador standing over Udina with his hands tenderly moving back and forth over his afflicted area. He had refused to stop until EMTs arrived. Even after he had been stabilized, Kilgore insisted that he be allowed to resume in order to lessen the pain. When told that they had pumped him with more than enough drugs to do so, Kilgore had derided them for their potentially debilitating side effects and insisted regardless. He had afterward called for Sparatus, citing a potential "renegotiation."

Sparatus had received all of this information with steadily increasing dread, and now here he was, face to face with the one ambassador he had never dealt with extensively.

"I am not responsible for C-Sec, ambassador. Udina's condition is regrettable, but this situation was unforeseeable. I had the honor – well I had the duty of knowing Councilor Anto rather well, and this was most out of character. I suspect he had orders beforehand to carry this out. I can't think of any other Batarians with clearance for this part of the Presidium. You both have my condolences, and I wish him a speedy recovery."

Kilgore made a strange half hissing, half coughing sound, prompting Sparatus to step away from the bed. He realized a few seconds later that it was laughter. The green light shining brightly from Kilgore's palms shut off abruptly. The Vortigaunt turned to face the Turian.

"The Councilor Turian will cease all manner of obsequious charm. It falls flat in dire times like these. We have no need of it." Sparatus noted the dried blood on one of Kilgore's claws. It looked like someone had made a half-hearted attempt to clean it off. "The Donnel Udina will recover, but without additional wielders of the Vortessence, it will take some time. We suspect his movement to be permanently impaired. The four eyed ones responsible will suffer. The Councilor Turian had a deal in that regard."

"I am not certain what you are talking about." Sparatus eyed the small figure in the bed, wondering what Udina would want him to do in this situation. Kilgore was kind enough to quickly inform him.

"Your feigned ignorance belies either confusion or contempt. We find both insulting. We act as Councilor for the Alliance proper in situations such as this. In any case, we were already aware of the agreement. Condemnation of invasion and retaliation. It is no longer necessary. I can hear the calls of my peers. Fires over Terra Nova. A renewed assault on Elysium. The Batarians strike now, and they strike without mercy."

"I…see. I admit that I have only done the bare minimum of reading on your people-"

"The Councilor Turian's ignorance is clear to see. You doubt the veracity of our claims?"

"Doubt?" Sparatus rarely found himself so wrong footed, but he found himself profoundly intimidated by Kilgore. The Vortigaunt's obvious and complete lack of respect coupled with his intimidating demeanor and slightly blood soaked appearance made for an unnerving picture. "I have never experienced your…talents…firsthand. I am not certain as to the extent of your ability."

"We have little use for falsehoods when dishonesty to a brother is physically impossible. Hyperbole is similarly without purpose. Heed these words. The Hegemony of Batarians has begun their attack. Torfan, Terra Nova, and Elysium are now embroiled in the new conflict. It must be brought to a swift victory. We demand your ships."

"Excuse me?" Sparatus stared at Kilgore, who had again bared his teeth and now advanced a step.

"Your ships. All that the Hierarchy of Turians can spare. We are not without our own infernal machinations. The Ambassador Udina has been perforated," Kilgore made a sweeping gesture at Udina's form. "An unprovoked attack has been made upon our Alliance following an approved counterattack upon a stronghold of pirates. The Hegemony already possesses a history of belligerence, slavery, and terrorism. If your Council cannot provide protection to those it claims under its wing, what use are you? Your deal with the Udina Councilor regarding condemnation of any action is no longer necessary. We will give your people three weeks."

Sparatus blinked, and then narrowed his eyes.

"And then?"

Kilgore just stared at him before laughing again, much lower this time.

"We have no use for threats, either. But we have found uses for surprise."

…

Torfan's orbit had become clogged with wreckage. By the time Fifth Fleet had eliminated the gap between themselves and the fresh Batarian fleet, they had taken a hell of a pounding. Whatever advantages the Alliance might have had in overall mobility and the power of their weaponry they certainly lacked in effective weapon range. Their dreadnoughts had attempted to back up, covering their retreat with several cruisers and a veritable onslaught of fighters and frigates. Despite the obvious intelligence leak that had led to this ambush, it became increasingly clear that the galaxy at large still had little knowledge of the Alliance fleet's armament.

The warp cannons had ripped through the smaller ships with ease. No one had ever managed to come up with a feasible scientific explanation for how the re-appropriated combine weapon actually worked, one of the many black boxes left from the days of the Occupation. In Hackett's eyes it looked like the beam just _pulled_ a thread of reality from its target before snapping it back in place like an elastic band. Shields did nothing, and whatever that was hit would have a gaping hole torn in itself. While effective against smaller ships, particularly if directed against critical systems, warp cannons had a rather limited range and simply could not inflict meaningful damage on larger targets – the amount of energy required to produce an average blast was already immense. That was where the hopwires came in.

The final Batarian dreadnought tried to limp away from the engagement, its escort fleet scattered. Once the targeting parameters had been set, Hackett commanded the SSV _New Mesa_ to fire. A multitude of missiles appeared on the tactical map, homing in on the hulking vessel. Many did not make it to the hull of the ship, intercepted by GARDIAN lasers, but a handful reached the hull, bypassing the shield through sheer mass, close to where the main energy signature of the ship was.

Hackett smiled when he saw the confirmed impact. He breathed a sigh of relief a few seconds later when the torpedoes spat out their payload of hopwires. Hackett counted off their timed delay. He didn't have to check the tactical map to know the hit had been successful, he could hear the cheering.

"She's breaking up! Eat that, you bastards! How do you like it you four eyed fucks?!" Hackett was unaware that the SSV _New Mesa_'_s _navigator had such a colorful vocabulary. But it was hardly unwarranted. Second Fleet was still fully engaged with the other Batarian fleet, who were on the retreat. He checked his fleet numbers.

_Jesus Christ._ There were barely any ships remaining that weren't reporting some amount of damage, but that wasn't the worst of the news. Hackett didn't need to do too much math to realize that the Fifth fleet had been completely gutted. Barely half of his ships were in any condition to continue fighting. The fact that the Batarians were not in much better shape was scarcely comforting. It was a wide galaxy, and there was still a great deal to do.

"This is Korsmeyer," the intercom blared suddenly, a tone of exhaustion clearly evident, "They're on the run – too chickenshit without those dreadnoughts. We've taken casualties, but nothing too unexpected. I'm uh, not certain I can say the same about Fifth fleet."

"Hackett here, we're in dire need of repairs. Our dreadnoughts are intact and none of theirs made it out, but most of our cruisers bought it. Had to authorize the use of hopwires – the secret's out, now. We need to press that advantage before anyone develops countermeasures. What's our status groundside?"

"Bad. They're jamming most communications and bombing anything that moves. Their troops are heavily entrenched. I'm ceasing pursuit and engaging the pirate's bombers. Can your fleet provide any support from orbit?"

Hackett paused, thinking. His next words were slow, heavy with implication.

"This is still technically a police action. These are pirates, and we've been pushed to our limit. I'll handle it. Hackett out."


	9. Dark Interval

Bloodshot victory, strutting from corpse to corpse in search of meaning. Shotgun echoes again and again in an unnecessary world as smoking wreckage plummets from the atmosphere in a rain of titanium. Trigger squeezed again and again with less and less feeling as yet another foe falls for the sake of someone else's reasons. Three holes puckering the chest, tight against the lungs. The shield recharged ceaselessly as the odds are tested and stretched on an unsafe number of occasions, with no clear reason as to why she was surviving her lone invasion.

Blood smears coating the visor that separated woman from viscera – discarded at no thought to military expense when the dust and liquid could no longer be wiped away by gloves wearing thin from the violent stresses. There was no pain, there was no fear. Gifts of Terra discarded to make way for the heavier armament of the enemy, shoulders creaking with discomfort as unfamiliar sights are brought up to glazed and exposed eyes. Over and over and over and over and over –

…

"This isn't going to leave Torfan very habitable," noted the engineer as he bypassed several safety measures on the suppression device, "And I don't think anyone's going to approve of the AI."

"The Joplin will note that alien ignorance is without limit," the Vortigaunt noted, watching the modifications to the weapon with interest, "The old Combine program has demonstrated its effectiveness time and time again, and the Council at large has accepted all claims of a VI status. In addition, habitability of such desolate rocks is scarcely a concern. Is the work nearly done?"

The engineer wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and tapped the screen as it asked for a last second confirmation.

"Aye. It's almost done. Need your card as well." Both head engineers swiped their cards. The AI booted up without issue, quickly spreading through the _New Mesa_'s systems, checking what other ships were available, and then making the jumps through their linked network. Within three minutes, it had synchronized the entirety of what was left of Fifth Fleet. The engineer cleared his throat.

"Overwatch?

"Apply." An electronic female voice echoed through the _New Mesa_. Hackett frowned, knowing that there was a justified need for such precise brutality, but hoping to God the fail safes on the repurposed Overwatch AI were as capable as they claimed. The engineer continued.

"Got an uprising, massive civil malcompliance. Uh, taken substantial casualties and have authorized the use of widespread suppression. Need to uh, eliminate as many hostiles as possible to secure surrender and compliance without friendly fire. The fleet is at your disposal. All of target designated as Torfan requires complete submission."

"Acknowledged. Citizen alert: Torfan Prime is now under official subjugation. Establishing connection with local protection teams and designating official tactical withdrawal zones. Airwatch: The following areas are to be expunged. Isolate. Clamp. Inoculate."

Hackett watched several zones on the battlefields they were surveying light up with green and orange – areas for survivors to pick up, and areas that were to be turned to glass. The latter was vastly greater than the former. With their ships within an acceptable range, the AI was now establishing contact with all surviving Alliance teams and advising them. _Marvelous piece of software_. The teams were making visible progress towards the green zones, but Hackett stopped short of actually complimenting the AI when he encountered one of its more well-known glitches that R&D had mentioned.

"Sterilize. Sterilize. Sterilize. Sterilize. Ster-"

…

The Vortigaunt teams dispatched to surface did not need the AI's assistance in locating safe zones. The presence of other close range Vortigaunts with a visual on the map was more than enough. In specially made black armor equipped with a shield strengthened by their innate Vortal abilities, they loped through the ashes of Torfan, their many eyes scanning the rubble for movement. While human Alliance teams were experiencing constant harassment in their effort to reach the LZs, it seemed the pirates were making a not insubstantial effort to avoid any Vortigaunts. Several sharp cracks issued through the air, coming from somewhere on the team's left. They paused.

"A not impossible ambush."

"And we are not the intended victims. Alliance, perhaps?"

"Yes. All must be safely enclosed within the hulls of our victorious fleets. We are obligated."

"Willing."

"Able."

"Yes."

The team set off towards the sounds, which had now graduated into what was clearly a raging firefight. To their slight befuddlement, the Vortigaunts did not detect the sound of pulse discharges – all of the weapon reports were that of alien rifles.

Rounding the burnt out husk of a _Gargantua_ battle tank, the Vortigaunts came upon a sight they found wondrous to them – the exposed backs of several unaware aliens.

"Give over your essence!" Almost in unison they conjured forth blasts of the Vortessence, manifesting to the uninitiated as an electrical current. The bolts rushed toward the assembled pirates and struck their shield as static filled the air and there was a slight pause.

"Oh," said one of the pirates. Then their shields completely overloaded, spraying the stoic forms of the Vortigaunts with dust, various amounts of Technicolor blood, and the smell of burning metal.

"A most gratifying result."

"Indeed."

One of the Vortigaunts then let out a loud call. It didn't mean anything specific – to the Vortigaunts the best definition would be a fragment of a greeting – but it was a generalized call to make Vortal impaired allies aware of their presence. No other hostile force would be capable of imitating that noise in a hurry.

The dust cleared and a lone figure staggered toward them, brandishing a weapon. The Vortigaunts strode toward it, unafraid. There, clad in blood-spattered, dust-covered, badly damaged armor, was a lone woman with a badly burned right side of her face, brown hair damp with sweat and blood. Her eyes were unfocused but she saw them and straightened, letting her gun fall to her side. Vortigaunts had a way of shaking people out of stupors.

"You're-" she coughed, cleared her throat, "You're friendly."

"Always." One of the Vortigaunts bowed his head. "We recognize the Shepard. One of us addressed you before this invasion."

"Right. We lose?"

"_Attention Torfan citizens," _blared a female voice suddenly, causing all three Vortigaunts to bare their teeth slightly at old memories of what the Overwatch AI once represented, "_You are charged with civil malcompliance, cooperation with local Alliance protection teams will be rewarded. Failure to comply will result in permanent cessation and sterilization. Isolate. Inquire. Subsume._"

"They brought out the AI?"

"We were under the impression that most of the civilians had been put into places of utmost security – it is without certainty that the bombardment that will follow our escape will be of complete lethality to them. What has become of the Shepard's helmet? Contact with the old Overwatch is of importance."

"It was all burnt," Shepard shrugged, "I was just...running."

"We are aware of the LZ's location. We will guide you there." The Vortigaunt beckoned and the bloody figure followed, leaving dull red footprints behind in the ash.

…

Councilor Sparatus was not entirely certain as to what exactly he was supposed to tell Primarch Fedorian had happened today. The Batarian ambassador had shot the human ambassador. The Vortigaunt ambassador had disemboweled the Batarian ambassador and then intimated that he and his people would inflict bloody vengeance for this lapse in security and reason unless the Hierarchy sided with the Alliance in this fresh war. Had he mentioned the fact that the Hegemony had invaded the Alliance? The Hegemony had invaded the Alliance. He had doubted Kilgore's words at first, but in the last few hours live feeds had been arriving from Alliance space. Most of it was just smoke, flame, and screams. Sparatus hit the vidcom button, mandibles set in a stern but respectful manner. It would not do to visibly display his doubts. The Primarch, having been already notified of a political development that would necessitate a face to face conversation, appeared promptly.

"Ah, Councilor Sparatus. I assume that we are about to make a galaxy changing decision? Whenever a councilor deigns to contact me it's always because of something heinous. So what is it? Geth invasion? Rachni resurgence? Genophage cure?"

"Ah, Ambassador Anto just shot Ambassador Udina before Ambassador Kilgore-"

"Titles please, Sparatus. I am rather far removed from alien intrigue. Anto is the Batarian Ambassador? Is Udina the Salarian one?"

"The Batarian ambassador shot the human ambassador, non-fatally at this moment. He was then disemboweled by the Vortigaunt ambassador."

"Fatally?" Fedorian's expression was stony, eyes narrowed. His opinion on this turn of events was currently unclear to Sparatus.

"Fatally, sir. The Hegemony has now invaded Alliance space. I was confronted by the Vortigaunt."

"Oh?"

"He, ah, "requested" the Hierarchy's assistance. On pain of something unclear." Sparatus watched Fedorian carefully, trying to gauge his reaction to his piece of news.

"Would you be so kind as to clarify?"

"He was deliberately vague, sir, but I was under the impression that this threat came from the Vortigaunts personally. I did a quick read, and it seems the Alliance were deliberately vague as to their origin, biology, and most importantly, military capabilities. I can attest that they can kill a Batarian with their bare hands easily enough."

"I see." Fedorian sighed. "Do you have any clue as to why it is the Hierarchy and not, say, the Salarians or Asari that has to put up with this nonsense?"

"Heh. Do you think that they could get their act together in a realistic timeframe, sir? We are Turian."

"We are Turian," mused Fedorian, "But charging headfirst into this conflict we have only tangential stakes in; regardless of nebulous Alliance threats…what would we get out of this, aside from making an enemy of the Hegemony instead of the Alliance?"

"Well, permission to speak freely sir?"

"Permission is granted."

"In all likelihood, it is the Alliance that will survive this war, if only because their core is being held up by the Vortigaunts. There is a strong possibility that bringing the Hegemony to its knees will allow us to recover a substantial number of slaves, some of whom would be Turian. And, honestly, the galaxy would see us as peacekeepers quite easily. The Batarians, after all, attacked first."

Fedorian regarded Sparatus with an expression of bemusement.

"You don't make it sound that bad. What's the downside?"

"We would have to invade the Hegemony, and I suspect it would anger the Terminus Systems to a previously unseen degree."

"_Downside,_ I said," Fedorian chuckled, "We can make this happen."

…

"_Attention local protection teams: you are within designated quarantine zones within Torfan Prime. Relocate to appropriate areas, or become susceptible to acceptable amputation. Attention local protection teams: staph infection present in these localized areas. All residents have revoked citizenship. Relocate to acceptable distance. Sterilize. Sterilize. Sterilize. Sterilize. Sterilize._"

Both Hackett and the AI had apparently come to the same conclusion at roughly the same time – they had evacuated nearly everyone they could, and warned them long enough. The pirates remained belligerent, and whatever minor civilian presence that may have been on the planet was either well tucked away or had joined the pirates at shooting at them and making a mess. Hackett was about to announce primary bombardment when the Overwatch's prompt cut him off.

"_All areas designated malignant. Permission to cauterize?"_

"God help us, you have it. Burn them."

"_Regulate designated Airwatch to these locations and hold. Targeting and sterilization will commence shortly. All local protection teams within area have been notified._"

Hackett gritted his teeth at that, hoping the friendly casualties would be minimal. All ships were put into position. After a few seconds, the suppression began.

Hackett would later record in his memoirs that the Battle of Torfan had been a battle of firsts for many technologies they had at their disposal. They had all been tested, but never against an actual military target. To Hackett, the Hopwires had been beautiful. The Overwatch AI, while still glitching in a somewhat creepy way, was also unarguably effective at planetside logistics, provided the rest of the galaxy never got wind of it. The suppression of a planet, however, would burn itself into Hackett's retinas and haunt his conscience.

Overwatch's first target was, naturally, that which it deemed most effective. It sought out the highest densities of hostiles and began to rain down death. The suppression devices attached to the undersides of their dreadnoughts and cruisers would pound the location of interest until all buildings had been flattened, and all living beings disintegrated. What perplexed Hackett was the fact that the Overwatch AI had first made a beeline away from where most of the action had occurred, and instead pounded several craters into stretches of land seemingly at random before moving into areas Hackett knew for a fact hostiles were present in.

Hackett knew he was not alone in seeing this when an aide asked him exactly what was going on. He posed the query to the Overwatch.

"_Confirmed malignancy at these locations. Heat signatures confirmed without IFF marker. Sterilize._" The last statement was punctuated by three cruisers in orbit reducing said heat signatures to slag. It did not take very long for Hackett to realize where these heat signatures were coming from. His brow furrowed.

_A battle of firsts. We hand the keys to the AI and tell it to kill everything, and naturally the first thing it does is find all of the bunkers the civilians were hiding in._

He let it finish its sweep without a word. Overwatch gave a query and Hackett told it to power off for now, which it did without protest. The Battle of Torfan ended in Alliance victory.

…

Shepard had fought until she had run out of ammo. She had fought until she had forgotten how she had been trained, but not what she had been trained in. The bunker she had wandered into had been repurposed from warlord's fortress to refugee bunker. The team that had gone inside had been overwhelmed simply by the sheer number of scared defenders, most of which did not have guns. Shepard, outnumbered and terrified, had not held back.

She had wandered for several hours through ash and dust, getting into firefights of which she was always the only survivor. Barely cognizant, she had shambled through the bombed out remains of an old spaceport the pirates had destroyed to deny the Alliance any cover. She vaguely recalled losing her helmet there and meeting a dying private who coughed out a few dying words – a message to his girlfriend back on Earth. Shepard had already forgotten.

She was quiet on the shuttle out of there. Some of the survivors marveled at how battered her armor was, and how she had taken up an alien's weapon. She tried to tell them that she had to, that she had run out of ammo, but that only made them more impressed. Then she vomited. It hadn't been the first time. Her head really hurt. Probably a concussion.

The cruiser she had arrived in had not survived the Battle of Torfan. She and several other wounded were moved into infirmaries. Her physical injuries were not severe, but she was very confused.

"They shot first, I think," Shepard told a doctor who asked how she was feeling, "And it's not like I wanted to shoot their wives and kids. It was bad on Elysium too."

…

"This…" Jack Harper buried his head in his hands for a moment at his desk. "…has been the greatest failure we've encountered since the death of Misha Stukov. How bad is it?"

"Elysium was hit hard, but defenses were already in place," Petrohvsky reported, standing at impeccable attention in his white and gold uniform, "Terra Nova has been occupied, however. Third Fleet took substantial casualties and was forced to retreat. It appears they bore the brunt of the attack. A skirmish also occurred yesterday at 9 AM galactic standard near the Charon relay – they appear to be scoping out Earth."

"Trying, Colonel. Trying. I almost wish they could land a force there. The results would be…spectacular. Have you ever heard of the Dinner Bell?" Harper's head was pounding, his back was throbbing, and his throat was drying. He poured himself another glass.

"No, sir."

"Ah, well another time. What happened at Torfan?"

"Second and Fifth fleets were jumped by the Hegemony. It ended in victory, and a substantial amount of useful combat data. Hackett did not hold back when it came time to engage. It would have been helpful to see that kind of resolve on Terra Nova." Petrohvsky coughed. "It has come to my attention however, that uh, we may have a slight issue with how Torfan played out. We had some forewarning of civilian presence, but we assumed it was not extensive. In all honesty it wasn't, but apparently the Overwatch AI was uh, too thorough?"

"We'll leave the backlash to the politicians. The Alliance will ride it out. Cerberus is concerned with human lives." Harper downed a shot, shaking his head. If his back wasn't acting up so much he would have been more than happy to share with the colonel, but just now it could wait. "Have we made any new enemies to speak of?"

"Received word of fleet movements within Hierarchy space. Not sure what it means."

"The birds are poised to invade us?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"I'll keep an eye on it. Prepare your Kilo team, and let Sigma team know that we'll need them as well. Cerberus cannot defeat this enemy on its own, but we need only cripple-"

"Sir, do you have a moment?" Secretary was paging Harper. He sighed.

"A short one. What is it?"

"Just received word that the Hierarchy has declared war on the Hegemony with the Council's backing. Turian First Fleet just engaged the Batarians over Torfan."

Harper had to stop his mouth from dropping. He simply swallowed, smiled at Petrohvsky.

"I'd say that's this war just about half won. Now…just who in the hell set this up?"

…

For Shepard, for a long time after Torfan everything seemed to fast-forward. People were talking about how badly Torfan had gone one moment, celebrating victory the next. She was awarded two medals and questioned extensively about her time on the surface. The bunker had been glossed over, the brass only seemed interested in the squads of pirates she had fought and killed. The Hierarchy jumped into the war.

Shepard fought side by side with disgruntled Turians on the beaches of Terra Nova one moment before being catapulted into the capital where she numbly looked for her father. The reunion was brief, his wounds not severe. Lieutenant Adrian Shepard was then given her own squad, whose names she could still remember. Barkley, Haggerty, Polson, Sherman. They seemed so full of vigor, ready to fight and die for Shepard. They did the former at the Third Battle of Elysium, the taking of Aratoht and Anhur, and then finally accomplished the latter at the battle for Khar'shan.

For her actions Shepard was promoted to commander and then the brass no longer seemed sure what to do with her. Or any of the veterans of the war for that matter. The Turians had spoken of honor and victory and Shepard even shook hands with one of them before they all went home, leaving behind only a police force to govern the surviving Batarians, now free of tyranny. Shepard was shunted from post to post, getting drunk probably more often than was healthy. The emails she had traded with her parents trailed off, neither appearing to notice. The years started to blur, and all Shepard could see as she went to bed at night was a stream of images – the trail of corpses she had left behind her and she could be damned if she could say she had a good reason. Despondent, confused, but still functional enough for the Alliance, Commander Shepard was assigned to command a small team of marines on Eden Prime in 2183, on the tacit understanding that she would most likely be forgotten there.


	10. Interloper

Eden Prime had been one of the first extra-solar acquisitions the Alliance had made, and without a doubt it had been their most fortuitous. Most of the attempts at agriculture had failed in the wake of Combine pollution and Xenian corruption, resulting in a rapidly diminishing populace stuck in crowded cities watching their families starve to death. The Vortigaunts, not bound by such dietary compulsions, were able to push the fledgling Alliance to redevelop space travel, and then push beyond it with the help of technologies scavenged from the Citadel.

Shepard could only imagine how John Grissom had seen Eden Prime. Green, fertile, and devoid of any sapient inhabitants, the planet had been a prayer answered. Years later and it was still the only Alliance core world aside from Earth to not experience invasion – a very fortunate thing too, as the planet was now feeding around 40% of the Alliance populace, something that the gunnery chief sitting next to her in the rover, Ashley Williams, was not shutting up about.

"You never hear of any kind of dissension on Eden Prime," Williams was saying, watching the rows of wheat go by as they sped down the road, "Where Benning and Terra Nova were going up in flames here they were, a bunch of farmers with more loyalty than any of those coddled idiots sitting on their asses in the cities. You'd think, from the way they were talking about the Alliance, that we enforce these laws because it is easy. Was Elysium easy commander?"

Shepard, who was at the wheel and thinking wistfully of a recently purchased vintage of Elcor wine now sitting atop her bedside table back in the colony, turned her attention back to the one-sided conversation. There were a handful of grunts sitting in the back, but having worked with Williams for quite some time they were doing little more than offering "Yes, ma'ams," and "You're right, Chief."

"We gave as good as we got on Elysium each time; the mandatory training and drills the Alliance was forcing all citizens into helped, but wasn't enough. And as my father would contend, fascism isn't easy, but level of difficulty does not inform efficacy."

Shepard pursed her lips, wondering vaguely what her father was up to these days. There was a slight pause as Williams seemed to gather her thoughts.

"The priority of the Alliance has always been to safeguard humans and Vortigaunts. The galaxy we live in has been unfriendly – my father -"

"Taught you that surrender is beneath an Alliance soldier," remarked Shepard as she rounded a corner, her vehicle now running parallel with the rails that transported thousands of kilos of wheat to the spaceports. "Even in a verbal debate." Her head was pounding. Wished Williams would talk more quietly.

"It bought us the respect of the galaxy, didn't it? And what would history have said of my father had he given in, Commander? A picture of his face with "Breen the Second" written under it?"

Shepard shrugged. She didn't really care.

The rover passed by a row of tall workers monitoring automated farming equipment under the baking sun. Shepard recognized the figures as Batarian – workers brought in from the more volatile areas in the Hegemony. Even with the Alliance's population continuing to steadily grow, the fact was that there was still plenty of room on most of their planets, and still a great deal of demand for extra hands in practically all sectors except for the military. While the other Council races had turned the refugees away, the Alliance had found room for them on Eden Prime, at least.

Williams had noticed them too.

"Feels weird seeing those guys, huh?" Williams said, "Khar'shan was absolutely brutal – and now they're the ones making dinner."

"I don't hate them," Shepard said, focusing on the road again, "It was the Hegemony I hated, I guess. And pirates. I've seen their women and children, and, uh…" Shepard trailed off, trying to suppress several violent images from unhappier times. Williams did not notice.

"Maybe, given enough time, this'll improve the galaxy's view on them," Williams said, yawning, "Seems like we gravitate to defining people by their most violent minorities."

The rover pulled up to the slaughterhouse. A handful of Vortigaunts and Batarians waited outside the sealed entrance, waiting for Shepard and her squad. They clambered out of the car and approached, stretching stiff limbs. Shepard immediately addressed a Vortigaunt.

"Heard something about 'crabs getting loose. What's the situation?"

"Ah, the Shepard. We are grateful for your most personal intervention. Ever since this morning, there has been great…agitation."

"The 'crabs and Vortigaunts have been acting strange all day," complained the Batarian floor manager, his tone clearly irritated, "We've all gotten 'crab bites on occasion, but not this bad. I got six this day: six! And the Vorts are complaining of deafness."

"The Guril Vaas will remain silent until spoken to," the Vortigaunt remarked coolly without facing the Batarian, "We do not have the patience to deal with ignorant sceptics. But the Guril Vaas speaks true – something is beginning to cloud the Vortessence."

"Cloud it?" Williams asked, brow furrowed. "Can you put it in, uh, terms that the impaired can understand?"

"Without a shred of hesitation, we will comply. Imagine, if you would, a crowded street. The noise is not bothersome, but it is constant – vehicles, shouting, even the heavy tread of footsteps. You are striding along the sidewalk unmindful of such trivialities – imagine then, if all such noise were to go silent, leaving you with only your own thoughts."

"Such deafening silence," murmured another Vortigaunt, "We were warmed by each other's presence, and now a shadow has fallen over our sun. The headcrab feels it. Such cold…"

"Does this, uh, does this happen often?" Shepard asked, wracking her brains to try and think of any comparable experience she had had previously with the Vortigaunts, "When did this begin?"

"Gradually, ever so gradually with the…unearthing," the Vortigaunt glared at the Batarians, "Disperse, four-eyed ones. This exchange grows in confidentiality."

"Right," said Guril Vaas, scratching his head, "C'mon everybody. We'll go on smoke break…or something. Let us know when you're done." He strode off with the others, shaking his head. Shepard noted several Batarians wearing bandages over their faces or slings on their arms – the headcrabs must have gone nuts. Shepard regarded the Vortigaunts again. As always, it seemed they had come out with nary a scratch.

"You're talking about that Prothean relic they dug up? I hear it's due for transfer, if it's causing you pain. Do we have reason to report it as dangerous?"

"The relic is without fault, and for us it is without interest. But we believe that such an old thing is a beacon for disruption. We catch echoes…"

"Old eyes upon it."

"Upon us. Yes."

"A doom upon Eden Prime."

Shepard cast a look at Williams and the rest of the squad, all of whom looked rather unnerved. Private Blanchett coughed politely while Corporal Underhill stared off into the distance, biting his lip nervously. Williams did not seem to possess an ounce of fear, possessing only the kind of curiosity born of those who had yet to learn better.

"A doom? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I mean, something's getting these 'crabs wound up, but it could be a quake, or a far off storm, or maybe it's just an off day. What could clog up your Vortessence?"

"Unfathomable power," breathed a Vortigaunt, "But perhaps we are mistaken. With just us three, without the chorus of our brothers…"

"This conversation is futile. A passing sickness, a spatial anomaly, some other mishap, it matters not. With luck, this…sickness is but a fleeting inconvenience. We urge you to turn your attentions to the matter at hand." The Vortigaunt gestured to the sealed slaughterhouse entrance. "With this…distortion, the headcrab has grown unruly. To prevent contamination, we evacuated all and sealed the factory. All of these headcrabs have been debeaked – but the fruits of their loins would not be."

"Full-on outbreak then?" Shepard asked.

"Yes. There have been no escapees thus far. But purging the factory wholesale would be waste of a most gross magnitude. We humbly request your assistance in returning the wayward headcrabs to their rightful positions. Failing that, we will finish this ourselves and begin the purge."

Shepard sighed, anticipating a tedious three hour's work ahead of her.

"Williams, tell the squad we've got a bug war. Get 'em motivated."

"Hell yes, ma'am! Alright squad, the drive wasn't a waste of time after all! We get to squish some bugs…" Shepard listened, bemused, as the gunnery chief dressed up their assignment as best as she could while they all put their helmets on and retrieved their weapons from the rover. It was going to be a long time before she'd get to taste that Elcor vintage.

…

It took longer than Shepard would have liked, totaling roughly four and a half hours of trudging around a meat strewn slaughterhouse, hunting for what must have been the most fucking skittish 'crabs she had ever heard of. Their behavior was just strange – normally 'crabs would seek out dark and quiet areas to surprise prey, but here they were gathering in hysteric swarms – one corner of the slaughterhouse had around fifteen 'crabs packed in together, creating a god-awful racket as the "distortion" spooked them. They didn't even react as Private Willard shined a light on them and almost wet himself – they were too caught up in their own private headcrab panic attack mode.

Sadly, as soon as attempts were made to corral the fucking things back into their cages, they went absolutely crazy. The smells of burnt headcrab filled the room as they bounced harmlessly off of their shields, but as the creatures swarmed, the squad found themselves covered. Their armor was more than enough to repel the 'crabs, but having one of the bastards attached to your helmet and frantically attempting to gnaw on your eyes had to have been one of the most unpleasant experiences Adrian Shepard had to endure in quite some time.

Violence followed, as it usually did under such circumstances. Headcrabs flew through the air, riddled with holes and landing with satisfying squelches. The slaughterhouse, already coated in their green-yellow blood was given a fresh coat. The smell by the end was sickening, but Shepard nevertheless was obligated to make sure they did at least four complete sweeps of the factory. Such buildings were designed specifically to have as few avenues of movement for headcrabs as possible (the biggest of which being the removal of sizeable ventilation shafts), but as the infestation on Earth had demonstrated, breaches by these creatures could not be repaired. No risks could be taken – she ordered the sweeps performed and led them herself.

The squad emerged from the factory as the sun was beginning to set. They were sore, tired, and slightly on edge due to too many close encounters. The Batarians had all gone home, leaving only the three Vortigaunts who were huddled together. Shepard greeted them but did not receive a response. Frowning she approached.

Their heads were bowed and they were muttering frantically – Shepard suspected they were attempting to flux-shift and found themselves incapable. It was strangely unnerving. Shepard cleared her throat. Ashley Williams stood by her side, equally perplexed. Shepard hesitantly tapped one on the back. They stopped abruptly and turned as one.

"Can you hear it?" One of them hissed at Shepard, his eyes looking crazed. Shepard felt for her pistol holster, backing away. It was Williams who responded.

"Hear what? What's wrong?"

"A sour note. Deafening. We cannot-" The Vortigaunts stopped, turned to the skies. They began screaming. Shepard tried to clutch her ears, but they only found her helmet. Ashley was yelling, trying to get answers out of the Vortigaunts while the rest of the squad backed away, now training weapons on their bereaved allies. It lasted for twenty seconds and then stopped. The Vortigaunt in the center turned, pointing to the port they had traveled from.

"There…"

Shepard could hear something. The ground was faintly rumbling and she thought she could hear the distant boom of thunder. She followed where the Vortigaunt's finger was pointing, watched a red glow appear on the horizon, grow steadily brighter. Lightning flashed within her vision, leaving trails of crimson in her widened retinas. Something emerged from above the clouds – some sort of enormous tendril. Williams was swearing constantly next to her, but Shepard was completely focused on what was coming. _Something_, something huge had descended at the space port, a vast shape, a ship of unimaginable size to be seen so clearly at their distance, but with a shape that suggested an organic nature. There was a momentary silence.

"Combine?" Someone asked in the interim. As if to refute this claim, the ship uttered a blast. No one present was able to describe the sound in satisfactory terms, only that it was immense and deafening. Shepard fell to her knees, the ear protection provided by her helmet doing very little. The sound was clawing its way into her gray matter, rebounding cruelly and tearing up the insides. She was pretty sure she was screaming, but it sure as hell was not competing with the noise that ship was making.

It stopped suddenly, but its effects on the squad were lasting. Everyone had fallen to their knees – Williams had actually taken off her helmet and tried to cover her ears in a fit of pure terror. When they picked themselves up to their shaking feet, they found that the Vortigaunts had passed unconscious, a thin stream of green blood pouring from their ears. Shepard spat on to the grass.

"Are we…" She coughed, straightened, tried to get her bearings, "How are we doing?"

"Ma'am, what the hell was that?!" Williams asked, voice cracking slightly.

Shepard turned away from her terrified grunts and peered at ship. She could hear distant weapons fire and even see some of the discharges directed at the interloper. There were several flashes on the horizon and smoke began to emerge from the distant space port. It appeared Shepard was in the right time at the wrong place. Again.

"Wasn't getting jumped at Elysium enough…?" Shepard muttered, listening to the echoes of battle now flaring up. But something was happening. Shepard had hoped to live out the rest of her days as an alcohol-sodden commander devoid of any real responsibility because, when she had it, it had been messy. To kill an enemy was easy. But to feel that every instance of rage was justified, that every life taken had been warranted – that was hard. To sleep afterwards. To hear certain sounds –

What Shepard saw on the horizon was devoid of any ambiguity. What she saw was massive. Evil. Alien. It had made its intent clear and began destroying the only truly peaceful world the Alliance could claim to possess – presumably for the sake of that stupid fucking beacon. Shepard saw the ship and saw beauty. She saw a sink for all of the rage and purposelessness her life had filled her with up to this point – a justification for her own survival after all of this time.

Shepard did not perhaps internalize this in words. But she felt a warm certainty that no matter what course of action she chose, provided it was to insure that this fucking thing was blown to smithereens, it would be the right course of action.

"It's the enemy," she told Williams shortly, "The Mongolian horde. Who knows why it's here – it's pillaging our lands, burning our crops. What are we not here for, if not to fight it? We're headed back."

"Towards it, huh?" Williams wiped some sweat from her brow and donned her helmet once more, "What about the Vorts?" She gestured to their unconscious forms.

Shepard turned to them, shrugged, and headed for the car.

"They're not going to be of much use to us. We'll come back for them later." The squad followed suit and piled into the car. Shepard tried the rover's radio, but it was clearly jammed. Undeterred, Adrian Shepard drove towards the colony's space-port, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding as the enormous ship loomed larger and larger in her vision.

…

Ten minutes in and the squad received a much better idea as to what they were fighting against. The enormous dreadnought – despite being intimidating and of course, enormous – was not really contributing much to the ground war, aside from instilling a sense of frantic helplessness into the defenders. The dirtier duty of actually engaging the Alliance ground forces that the ship was now understandably ignoring had been delegated to someone else. Williams, riding shotgun again, was the first to point it out.

"What the hell kind of ship is that?" She was pointing. Shepard had not noticed, but some kind of insect-like ship had been slowly approaching, seeding the ground behind it with something Shepard could not make out. It was almost upon them now.

"Everybody OUT!" Shepard yelled, fumbling with her seat-belt and preparing to dive out of the vehicle. As Shepard propelled herself away from the rover, the ship fired several blue projectiles, quickly lighting up the car. Shepard heard a high-pitched whistling as she crawled as fast as she could, prone, preparing herself for the explosion. She did not have to wait long.

She could feel the heat at her back, but she was well protected. She stood, trying to see through the smoke. Someone was screaming about their leg, and she could make out Williams staggering to her feet, weapon raised.

Something thudded into the soil behind Shepard. She whipped around, coming face to face with a metallic figure in a fetal position, unfolding before her eyes. Having still retained some of her wits through years of surviving extreme and sudden panic, Shepard did not take the time to marvel at this sight and instead pulled out her side arm and shot the thing seven times in what she assumed was its head. It collapsed with a sound that reminded Shepard of what a TV occasionally sounded like when it was shut off, a gray liquid pouring from the wounds she had made.

"Not Combine…" she murmured, now grabbing her rifle from its holster. Williams was coughing behind her, staggering to her position. Around them, she could hear the sounds of additional thuds and ominous electronic chirping. A neon flash from behind the smoke, and whoever had been screaming about their leg went silent.

"Ma'am? We need to move. That ship dropped these things around us – I saw them. The rest of the squad-"

"Commander!" shrieked someone from behind the smoking wreckage of the rover, and then everything went to hell. The robots converged on the source suddenly from all directions. Shepard and Williams wasted no time in going prone and opening fire, the robot's shields falling away to reveal strangely fragile exteriors that folded easily under the pulse fire. The chirping intensified as someone else was shooting back from near the car was, espousing obscenities in fear. The robots did not have a hard time locating the Commander and Williams and they were pushed further back as the weapons fire drew nearer.

"Get to the car, see if we can pick up our guy, and then we make a dash into the wheat fields, see these guys follow us then," Shepard yelled, "We've got a point of reference with that huge fuck-off dreadnought!"

When they got to the wreckage it was clear that while they were not hemmed in just yet, they were still significantly outnumbered. The heat pouring off the rover was immense enough that they would not be able to use it for cover properly. They found Private Willard frantically trying to repel the attackers having already suffered a few light grazes, grabbed him, and pulled him into the wheat fields.

They stumbled through the stalks of wheat that towered over their heads, shifting from row to row in order to both get closer to the dreadnought and away from the robots on the roads. Their chirps and buzzing seemed to follow them closely behind for a time before gradually drifting away, apparently satisfied at only taking out half of the squad. Willard and Williams did not ask what was coming next, moving on in silence as Shepard led the way towards the sounds of the fighting and the profile of the ship. It was Willard who broke the silence first.  
"Two-twelve is giving their best, sounds like. Oorah, chief?"

"Oorah," said Williams, sounding exhausted yet proud at the same time, "I know we nailed quite a few of these bastards back there at least. Do we have a plan other than, "Advance," Commander?"

"Yes. It includes shutting up as well," spat back Shepard, not turning around; "They're probably here for that relic – a resource. We need to contribute in denial of that resource – and right now we need to not make much noise. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am." Williams sounded sufficiently cowed. They continued onward for about ten more minutes before Shepard motioned for a stop. A single robot, straight ahead in the field. It looked like a different kind of model than what they had already fought, sleek and in a darker hue that Shepard could not make out in the fading light. It also seemed to lack a gun and a glowing flashlight head. Shepard opened fire.

The robot was fast, hopping out of sight as soon as the first round thudded into its shield with a blue shimmer. It was also distinctly yelling something, but that was not stopping Shepard from following up with a few more bursts. She felt someone pound her on the back sharply. Shepard whipped round and faced Williams.

"What?!"

"That isn't one of them, commander. Listen."

"…iendly! Friendly! Friendly!" the voice sounded feminine if somewhat modulated, which was excusable considering the three of them were already wearing helmets. "Keelah, don't shoot! I'm not Geth!"

"Come out and identify yourself, then," called out Shepard as loudly as she dared, "You didn't look human, Vort, or Batarian from where I was standing!"

The figure emerged, _purple_, noticed Shepard, into their line of sight. Scanning her up and down, Shepard realized she had no clue as to what she was supposed to be looking at. She had never been that fond of perusing the Codex, and she had given up on alien study long ago. All she could conclude was that this alien lady looked far too similar to the robots that had been shooting at them for it to be a coincidence.

"I am Tali'zora vas Neema," the figure explained hesitantly, the voice emanating from inside her opaque helmet, "From the Migrant Fleet…"

"A Quarian," Private Willard said, reducing Shepard's puzzlement immeasurably though she would never admit it, "I think I saw you at the port. New arrival."

"You're a long way from home," Shepard said, vaguely recollecting old details but still uncertain if what she was saying was true, "What are you doing hiding out in a field on Eden Prime?"

"I was working," the Quarian said, folding her arms and leaning back slightly, "I thought there was potential for agricultural exchange, something to bring back for my Pilgrimage…I heard you let Batarians work here, why not give Quarians a chance? I've helped grow plants in space, on the fleet…"

"So why not here?" finished Williams, "You're a sight more welcome than more angry Batarian refugees. Looks like you picked a bad time to visit, though."

"Enough," Shepard said, raising her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you miss…Quarian, but you're not an Alliance citizen, and more importantly, you're not in any immediate danger. Unless you've got some kind of explanation as to what is going on-"

"It's the Geth," the Quarian said, her tone somewhat excited, "They came out from the Perseus Veil at last! I managed to…" She trailed off, apparently uncertain as to continue. Shepard coughed and shifted in a manner that reminded the Quarian of how heavily armed the three marines confronting her were. She continued.

"We built them. The Quarians, I mean. So we, well, know their ins and outs. I managed to recover part of one's core. It's got some kind of encrypted data on it; I'll need time to decipher it. But if I could take it back to the Fleet-"

"Is taking a core a big deal?" Shepard asked, still suspicious.

"It's supposed to be impossible, ma'am," Willard said in tones that he was beginning to consider himself a cultural advocate for Tali'zorah, "If these are Geth, when they die they're supposed to fry their hard drives. Real efficient copy protection, right? I'd ask to see the core, ma'am."

"You heard the man." Shepard held out a palm to the Quarian, who hesitated for a moment before putting some kind of metal sphere into her hand. It looked mostly intact.

"I'm no tech-expert Commander, but that looks legitimate," Williams almost brought her fingers to touch the core but then rightly thought better of it, "I think we need to get this to the brass."

"It'll be faster if you leave it with me," Tali extended her hand, waiting for the core's return. "If it's important, I promise to take it to the Alliance."

"How about, you and your metal doodad are under our protective custody until we get this mess sorted out," Shepard said, attaching the core to her belt, "Alright? You're with us, Bucket. Keep your head down and the bitching to a minimum. Any advice on how to kill these things?"

To the Quarian's credit, she actually took a moment to glare at Shepard before producing a pistol of her own.

"I can handle myself, Commander. Just shoot them anywhere, really. And just…try not to get my data blown up. Keelah Se'lai."

Not knowing or caring what that last phrase had meant, Shepard and her party worked their way forward through the field, the sounds of combat growing louder and louder.

…

The 212 had tried to dig in repeatedly to hold off the Geth incursion. One of the more informed lieutenants had correctly identified the hostiles and spread the word just before the dreadnought had descended and rendered every Vortigaunt within a ten mile radius unconscious. The 212 had focused first on protecting civilians, but it became clear very quickly that the Geth had little interest in wanton slaughter, preferring instead to specifically target those who could actually defend themselves. All frequencies had been jammed, and the marines found themselves confused and uncoordinated. By the time Shepard had arrived, the Geth at the space port were simply mopping up.

"We need to get to the beacon, probably blow it up," Shepard was telling the squad and the tagalong Quarian, "It doesn't look like it went well here…can't let it end in victory for them. I know we moved it from the site this morning, but I wasn't exactly privy as to where we were sending it."

"Look for Geth concentration, ma'am," Willard offered, "If that's what they're after, they'll be buzzing around it like antlions in a nectarium. That's the prize."

Shepard surveyed the entrance to the port, thinking. They had set up some kind of spikes, she wasn't sure why. Several Geth groups also encircled the port's entrance, apparently guarding it. Good enough for her.

"Let's do this, engage!" Shepard roared, charging down the slope. The Geth saw her as a silver blur before pulse rounds started shredding their insides. Her more cautious companions kept farther back, suppressing the Geth and preventing them from lining up a good shot. Shepard arced a grenade to where she thought Geth were shooting from, uncertain of the result but knowing that it was giving the robotic bastards something else to worry about. She darted from cover to cover, hopped up on adrenaline and watching stray shots just ping off her shield without worry. The bastards were backing up, but she could hear Willard yelling, saw him pointing at the spikes.

Shepard saw what was on the end of them, and was forced to reevaluate for a moment if what they were fighting was Combine or not. It was a human, once, clearly. Humanoid shape, same size. It was naked but hairless, wires coating its body in place of actual skin, sockets glowing blue with a cold fearlessness.

The Geth had put people up on those spikes. This is what came down. Not just human. Trans-human.

It charged. Shepard hit the catch and let the bayonet slide out. It sliced part way through the creature's torso as it leapt at her face, but it did not slow down. They collapsed together in a heap of tangled furious limbs, Shepard trying to punch her way through what was apparently mostly metal. To her satisfaction, she saw her blows dent part of its skull, but the creature was clawing, breaking her shield, creating great rents in her armor. She tried to stand but instead half jumped on it, pinning the creature to make room for her fists. It was squirming and making headway, but Shepard was gripped in a kind of primal fear at what this creature was representing. She pounded again and again with gloved fists, denting and finally collapsing the creature's facsimile of a skull, growing only angrier as it bled the same substance the Geth had in their insides instead of blood. Willard and Williams had to pull her off of the creature long as she continued long after the creature had stopped struggling.

"I'm…alright." Shepard said, trying to regain her composure and knowing that this was not possible. Tali was keeping her distance from the Commander, growing noticeably apprehensive as she stormed toward her.

"_That,_" Shepard pointed at the spikes and then at the creature, "Is _that_ normal? What the fuck kind of function did your idiot people give these things, Bucket?"

"My name is Tali," Tali'zorah muttered before making eye contact, "And I don't have a clue. Believe me, I want these Geth dead as much as anyone. They took-"

"I don't give a glowing purple fuck as to what these bastards have done in the past," growled Shepard, temple throbbing under the helmet, "What I want to know is what they are doing now! Who was that, I wonder, Bucket?! Did I say hello to him this morning?! Is his wife wondering if he is safe? That funeral isn't going to be open-casket – what the hell _is _this?!"

"I do- I don't know. I'm sorry. Calm down – somebody please calm her down." Tali was backing away, one hand behind her back, probably drawing a pistol. Shepard felt the rage begin to ebb, replaced with a cold fear at what the creature represented. A return of unhappy, far off things.

"I – that got out of hand," Shepard murmured, clenching and unclenching her fists in an attempt to calm down.

"Damn right it did!" Williams shouted, her glare visible through the helmet's visor, "You're our superior officer, Commander!"

"And what kind of example am I setting?" Shepard mused to herself, studying her three companions. A shaken Quarian on some kind of techno-religious excursion. A mouthy gunnery chief. And the strangely calm Private Willard, who was unapologetically staring at Tali's hips. "We need to finish this. My apologies, Bucket. That thing nearly chewed my face off."

"My name is…never – thank you, Commander. If there is anything in that data packet that relates to this, you'll be the first to know." Shepard thought about trying to shake her hand, thought better of it. She turned to the two marines still under her command.

"Try – try to keep me in line, Williams. Too many surprises today."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you, private."

"Commander?"

"Eyes front."

…

Having already encountered one bizarrely out of place alien in the midst of obscene carnage, Shepard and her crew were almost unsurprised to encounter another. Pacing back and forth apparently awaiting a tram on the tramway was a Turian, taller than most in Shepard's experience, and obviously military in some capacity, as he was in full combat armor with several weapons collapsed on to his back. He was apparently engaged in some kind of debate with himself as he was muttering and gesticulating. His back was turned as the group approached cautiously, but he proved himself aware enough of their presence.

"I was not expecting company. Most of the marines got wiped out quickly enough." He turned, surveyed them, thinking still. Shepard had had only a little truck with Turians in the past, mostly in the capacity of yelling at them to kill things at Terra Nova and Khar'Shan. They had proved effective enough at this. From what she recalled, they had appreciated candid dealings and politeness. Sadly she was running short on both at this stage.

"What's a Turian doing here?" Was the least expletive ridden phrase she came up with on short notice, noting how light on his feet the Turian obviously was. She was getting a very strong _do not fuck with me_ signal from this soldier.

"I am here for the beacon, as are they." He pointed at the dreadnought, now terrifyingly close to their position. "I am a Spectre. Council Special Forces. We usually do not have much cause to bother the Alliance. However, as in all matters regarding our forebears, the Protheans, matters become…cloudy." The Spectre sighed. "I have a shuttle that is keyed to approach my suit when I am ready. I am well aware of the beacon's location at the other side of this tramway. I know this for a fact."

"Did the Alliance approve this transfer? I'm not letting anyone near that beacon until this is over."

"You need not worry – your name?"

"Commander Shepard, Alliance military. With me are two grunts and a very confused Quarian. Don't worry about them. You?"

The Turian paused, thinking for a moment as he stared into Shepard's visor.

"Nihlus. Nihlus Kryik. I think we can help each other. Your AA has been very impressive around the Beacon – there's a group of survivors still bunkered over there as they speak. Rather irritatingly, they are refusing to allow me access to their location. If I call my shuttle, they claim, without hyperbole, that they will blow it out of the sky. Would you kindly make them aware of your presence?"

"I have a knack for making people act more reasonably, Turian," Shepard grunted before proceeding to the panel the Spectre was gesturing to. She hit the button.

"Secondary tram station, this is Commander Shepard broadcasting your location. Come in, we need access to secure the Beacon, I've got a Council Spectre with me, over."

"Shepard? This is Lieutenant Taylor. Good to hear a human voice. I'll send one right over, but I'll be keeping an eye on the raptor. Oh, and uh, we've had a complication regarding the Beacon. It…needs to be seen. Over."

"Jacob? Still alive, I see? I knew all those crunches made you indestructible, we'll be right over." Shepard blew out some air and turned to Nihlus. "I hope you're okay with complications, Turian."

"I'll be blunt, Commander," the Spectre turned to face the incoming tram approaching the station at lightning speed, "I have a limited tolerance for them."

…

Their motley group pulled up to the station, which was surprisingly crowded. Batarians and humans huddled together under makeshift tents as the automated air defenses continued to knock Geth fliers out of the sky. Shepard was also pleased to note the number of turrets still up and running around the perimeter, currently doing a knockout jump of keeping the ground forces at bay. The number of people in military uniform at this camp, however, was shockingly few.

"Commander! Williams? And…" Jacob Taylor was obviously unfamiliar with Quarians and Private Willard.

"Private Willard, sir. Just happy to be alive. And that's-"

"Tali'zorah vas Neema." Taylor actually stuck out his hand and Tali shook it rather happily, pleased to meet a slightly less hostile officer.

"Lieutenant Taylor." Nihlus greeted the lieutenant coolly, eyeing him up and down and pretty obviously wondering whether to tear him a new one physically or verbally. "I hope you have a good reason for denying a Council Spectre access to this Beacon."

"I don't bend over for just any Turian pretender, Spectre," remarked Jacob, maintaining firm eye contact, "But if you're good enough for the Commander, I'll refrain from putting a bullet in your scaly ass."

"Amusing. It was this kind of attitude that led to the piling of so many bodies on both sides during Shanxi. Now, lieutenant, kindly take me to this beacon before I stop pretending that I have not already lost my patience."

Taylor turned to Shepard, frowning.

"Like I said, we had a complication. You…need to see this. Make sure the tram stays sealed," he called out to a nearby technician as he lead the group up some stairs, "But if there are any more of ours coming through, don't wait for my confirmation, just let 'em in!" He glanced back at the group behind him. "Are we allowed to bring Quarians into this?"

"I'll be blunt, I don't care anymore," Shepard said impatiently, "Let's just see what all of the fuss is about and whether we have to blow this thing up or not."

The "complication" Taylor had spoken of became clear when they reached the Beacon's location. Or rather, the former Beacon's location. A pair of Vortigaunts lay unconscious next to what were very obviously shards of the beacon.

"Well," Shepard noted, slightly amused, "I guess someone already blew it up. Call the Geth, we'll call it a draw."

"What," Nihlus said striding up to where the Beacon had previously stood on its little pedestal and sweeping a limb over the Vortigaunts, "Is this." The tone was cold, but there was very clearly an underlying sense of wrath that caused a squirming in Shepard's guts. She didn't like where this was going.

"Vorts popped it," Taylor explained, "One of them tells me that something is coming, he has to take everything he can from the Beacon and store it, but that the Beacon would be destroyed. You know what the official policy is, Shepard. Can't argue with the Vorts. Then they all passed out. It was that bastard-" he nodded at the massive dreadnought that had done very little aside from being massive and pants-shittingly terrifying, "It's got some kind of Vort jammer in it, I think."

"Which one of these freaks is responsible." The Spectre was very still. His back was to the group. Shepard and Williams exchanged glances, and began to draw their weapons. "Which. Now."

"Why you asking, Turian?" Shepard said, keeping the tone casual as she brought her weapon ready.

"I'm not in the mood for this." He produced a pistol and aimed it squarely at the nearest Vortigaunt's head. "Start talking."

"I knew it was a mistake to let you in," muttered Lieutenant Taylor as he produced a pistol and aimed at Nihlus' back, "Dammit Commander, you owe me a beer."

"It's five on one, with a few more friendly hands back at the tram, Nihlus," Shepard said, "Just-"

The dreadnought took that moment to let out another loud blast, the first since its initial landing. If it was loud at the distance they were at back at the slaughterhouse, it was positively absurd up close. Shepard felt her teeth rattling. The burned half of her face seemed almost to combust yet again as it exploded with renewed pain, she thought she could see the air vibrating and distorting because of the ship's sound, and some kind of force suddenly knocked her back as she was keeled over in pain.

It was over more quickly this time, or perhaps she had fallen unconscious, Shepard hadn't the foggiest clue. Regardless she straightened to see Nihlus communicating with someone over his headset, probably the Geth. She caught the tail end of what he was saying.

"… I have no idea how to deal with these things. The Beacon is gone – I am going to exfil and then we are going to level the colony, let Sovereign clean this up…yes I am aware of their presence! How close are they? Spirits damn them…of course it had to be Nihlus." Shepard brought herself to her knees, scrabbling madly for her sidearm, bringing it to bear. Nihlus turned.

"No, I don't think so." His hand suddenly glowing blue, he yanked the weapon out of Shepard's hands before striding over to where she was kneeling. He reached down and grabbed her by the neck, lifting her almost effortlessly.

"Thank you for indulging an old habit of mine, Commander," Nihlus remarked to her face, "Ever since Shanxi, I have always loved strangling humans." The force on her throat was incredible, excruciating. Her feet dangled helplessly as she tried to kick Nihlus' shins in vain. Her struggling grew weaker. With a final spark of strength, she spat what spit was left in her mouth into his face. He only chortled. The edges of her vision grew dim…

Static filled the air. There was a dull ripping sound and Shepard was thrown violently sideways, green light filling her vision. With a great heaving gasp, Shepard brought air back into her lungs and color back into her world. She rolled over, trying to see what was happening. The Vortigaunts had awoken and were now engaging the Turian, who was keeping them off-balance with his goddamn biotics. He closed in on one and evaded a clumsy grab before firing three times into the Vortigaunt's stomach, leaving a bloody green hole. He kicked the lifeless form away.

The other Vortigaunt propelled a blast of the Vortessence at the Turian, but it was weak, far weaker than it should have been, and Nihlus seemed to swat it away. He grabbed the Vortigaunt's neck with his biotics and turned it as violently upward as it would go, creating an audible crack. The Vortigaunt collapsed without a sound. Shepard no longer had the strength to rise, and she lacked a reason to care. Nihlus Kryik would kill them all, and she had no idea why.

Nihlus had finished with the Vortigaunts, but he did not turn back to Shepard, but instead faced the stairwell they had descended with an expression that must have been shock. From behind her, a voice uttered,

"Saren."

The false Nihlus' expression turned to one of annoyance.

"I know what this looks like, Nihlus…but this is part of something greater. A galaxy at stake-"

"All I see right now, Saren," responded the voice, a Turian as well, "Is a deranged lunatic masquerading as me, murdering his way through an already badly damaged human colony. Alenko, Jenkins – kindly help me apprehend my old comrade."

"Not likely." Saren took a flying leap off of the port behind the pedestal, down into the fields below, his form glowing blue as he used his biotics to slow his fall.

"Dammit. Alenko, radio the Normandy, get someone on his location. And when's the time on that teleport – we can't do anything until that dreadnought leaves – Jenkins, help me check for survivors." Shepard felt faint stabs of relief as everyone in her party was reported in various states of injury and unconsciousness, but very definitely not dead. Rough hands felt for her pulse.  
"Yep!" called out a male voice, human, "'Nother live one! Looks like a Commander too. Best catch of the day, hopefully you can explain what happened here."

"Ggghhh." Shepard replied, much to her rescuer's shock.

"Is that one," said the other voice, "Could you repeat that…is that one – Shepard? This Vortigaunt is asking for her."

"Can you walk, ma'am?" The soldier helped Shepard to her feet. Her head was ringing and her breaths were ragged gasps, but she could just about make it over. She was brought face to face with the gut-shot Vortigaunt.

"The…Shepard. Between the…places." The Vortigaunt gurgled, blood running in a stream from its mouth. "Need…a recipient. Please…bring her closer."

"Is this normal, Jenkins?" The Turian was asking from somewhere behind Shepard, who was still in a daze, "I do not wish to put any of yours in any further undo risk."

"Don't argue with the Vorts, sir, that's what I've always been told. They do everything with good reason. At least…that's what I was told." Shepard's head was lowered to the Vortigaunt's level.

"This…may not be entirely…without discomfort. Our most sincere apologies…"

The Vortigaunt's claws lashed out suddenly, grasping Shepard's head with surprising strength. And Shepard saw


End file.
